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THE JUNGLE GIRL 



I 


THE 

JUNGLE GIRL 


BY 

GORDON ^ASSERLY 

Aatbor of “The Elephant God.” 



NEW YORK 
EDWARD J. CLODE 






Copyright 1922 by 
Edward J. Clode ^ 


Printed in the United States of America 

OCT -4 1922 * |N, 

©C1A686059O 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I. The Grey Boar ...... i 

II. Youth Calls to Youth ... 20 

III. The Love-Song of Har Dyal . . 39 

IV. A Crocodile Intervenes . .. 60 

V. Sentence of Exile 80 

VI. A Border Outpost . . . 10 1 

VII. In the Terai Jungle . . . . 122 

VIII. A Girl of the Forest . . . . 145 

IX. Tiger Land . . . . . ., . 169 

X. A Political Officer in the 

Making ....... 192 

XI. Tragedy 213 

XII. “Rooted in Dishonour” . . 239 

XIII. The Course of True Love . . . 262 

XIV. The Devil Dancers of Tuna . 284 

XV. A Strange Rescue . . . . 306 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 





The Jungle Girl 

CHAPTER I 

THE GREY BOAR 

Youth^s daring courage, manhood’s fire, 

Firm seat and eagle eye, 

Must he acquire who doth aspire 
To see the grey boar die. 

— Indian Pigsticking Song. 

Mrs. Norton looked contentedly at her image 
in the long mirror which reflected a graceful figure 
in a well-cut grey habit and smart long brown boots, 
a pretty face and wavy auburn hair under the sun- 
helmet. Then turning away and picking up her 
whip she left the dressing-room and, passing the 
door of her husband’s bedroom where he lay still 
sleeping, descended the broad marble staircase of 
the Residency to the lofty hall, where an Indian 
servant in a long red coat hurried to open the door 
of the dining-room for her. 

Almost at that moment a mile away Raymond, 
the adjutant of the i8oth Punjaub Infantry, looked 
at his watch and called out loudly: 

“Hurry up, Wargrave; it’s four o’clock and the 
ponies will be round in ten minutes. And it’s a long 
ride to the Palace.” 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

He was seated at a table on the verandah of the 
bungalow which he shared with his brother subaltern 
in the small military cantonment near Rohar, the 
capital of the Native State of Mandha in the west 
of India. Dawn had not yet come; and by the light 
of an oil lamp Raymond was eating a frugal break- 
fast of tea, toast and fruit, the chota hazri or light 
meal with which Europeans in the East begin the 
day. He was dressed in an old shooting-jacket, 
breeches and boots; and as he ate his eyes turned 
frequently to a bundle of steel-headed bamboo 
spears leaning against the wall near him. For he 
and his companion were going as the guests 
of the Maharajah of Mandha for a day’s pig- 
sticking, as hunting the wild boar is termed in 
India. 

He had finished his meal and lit a cheroot before 
Wargrave came yawning on to the verandah. 

‘‘Sorry for being so lazy, old chap,” said the 
newcomer. “But a year’s leave in England gets 
one out of the habit of early rising.” 

He pulled up a chair to the table on which his 
white-clad Mussulman servant, who had come up 
the front steps of the verandah, laid a tray with his 
tea and toast. And while he ate Raymond lay back 
smoking in a long chair and looked almost affection- 
ately at him. They had been friends since their 
Sandhurst days, and during the past twelve months 
of his comrade’s absence on furlough in Europe the 
[ 2 ] 


THE GREY BOAR 


adjutant had sorely missed his cheery companion- 
ship. Nor was he the only one in their regiment 
who had. 

Frank Wargrave was almost universally liked by 
both men and women, and, while unspoilt by 
popularity, thoroughly deserved it. He was about 
twenty-six years of age, above medium height, with 
a lithe and graceful figure which the riding costume 
that he was wearing well set off. Fair-haired and 
blue-eyed, with good though irregular features, he 
was pleasant-faced and attractive rather than J 
handsome. The cheerful, good-tempered manner 
that he displayed even at that trying early hour 
was a true indication of a happy and light-hearted 
disposition that made him as liked by his brother 
officers as by other men who did not know him so 
well. In his regiment all the native ranks adored 
the young sahib, who was always kind and con- 
siderate, though just, to them, and looked more 
closely after their interests than he did his own. 
For, like most young officers in the Indian Army, 
he was seldom out of debt; but soldierly hospitality 
and a hand ever ready to help a friend in want were 
the causes rather than deliberate extravagance on 
his own account. Taking life easily and never 
worrying over his own troubles he was always 
generous and sympathetic to others, and prompter 
to take up cudgels on their behalf than on his own. 
His being a good sportsman and a. smart soldier 

[3] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

added to his popularity among men; while all 
women were partial to the pleasant, courteous 
subaltern whom they felt to have a chivalrous re- 
gard and respect for them and who was as polite 
and attentive to an old lady as he was to the 
prettiest girl. 

While admiring and liking the other sex Wargrave 
had hitherto been too absorbed in sport and his pro- 
fession to have ever found time to lose his heart to 
any particular member of it, while his innate respect 
for, and high ideal of, womankind had preserved 
him from unworthy intrigues with those ready to 
meet him more than halfway. Even in the idleness 
of the year’s furlough in England from which he had 
returned the previous day he had remained heart- 
whole; although several charming girls had been 
ready to share his lot and more than one pretty 
pirate had sought to make him her prize. But he 
had been blind to them all; for he was too free from 
conceit to believe that any woman would concern 
herself with him unasked. He had dined and danced 
with maid and young matron in London, ridden 
with them in the Row and Richmond Park, punted 
them down backwaters by Goring, Pangbourne and 
the Cleveden Woods, and flirted harmlessly with 
them in country houses after days with the Quorn 
and the Pytchley, and yet come back to India true 
to his one love, his regiment. 

As Raymond watched him the fear of the feminine 

[ 4 ] 


THE GREY BOAR 

dangers in England for his friend suddenly pricked; 
and he blurted out anxiously: 

‘T say, old chap, you havenT got tangled up with 
any woman at home, have you? Not got engaged 
or any silly thing like that, I hope?” 

Wargrave laughed. 

‘‘No fear, old boy,” he replied, pouring out an- 
other cup of tea. “Far too hard up to think of such 
an expensive luxury as a wife. Been too busy, too, 
to see much of any particular girl.” 

“You had some decent sport, hadn’t you?” 
asked his friend, with a feeling of relief in his 
heart. 

“Rather. I told you I’d learnt to fly and got my 
pilot’s certificate, for one thing. Good fun, flying. 
I wish I could afford a ’bus of my own. Then I had 
some yachting on the Solent and a lot of boating on 
the Thames. I put in a month in Switzerland, ski- 
ing and skating.” 

“Did you get any hunting?” 

“Yes, at my uncle’s place near Desford in Leices- 
tershire. He gave me some shooting, too. It was 
all very well; but I was very envious when the 
regiment came here and you wrote and told me of 
the pigsticking you were getting. I’ve always longed 
for it. It’s great sport, isn’t it?” 

“The best I know,” cried Raymond enthusiasti- 
cally. “Beats hunting hollow. You’re not following 
a wretched little animal that runs for its life, but a 

[5] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

game brute that will turn on you as like as not and 
make you fight for yours.” 

‘Tt must be ripping. I do hope we’ll have the 
luck to find plenty of pig to-day.” 

^‘Oh, we’re sure to. The Maharajah told me 
yesterday they have marked down a sounder — that 
is, a herd — of wild pig in a nullah about seven 
miles the other side of the city, which is two miles 
away, so we have a ride of nine to the meet.” 

^That will make it a very hard day for our 
ponies, won’t it?” asked Wargrave anxiously. 
“Eighteen miles there and back and the runs as 
well.” 

“Oh, that’s all right. The Maharajah mounts us 
at the meet. We’ll find his horses waiting there 
for us. Rawboned beasts with mouths like iron, 
as a rule; but good goers and staunch to pig.” 

“By Jove! the Maharajah must be a real good 
chap.” 

“One of the best,” replied Raymond. “He is a 
man for whom I’ve the greatest admiration. He 
rules his State admirably. He commanded his own 
Imperial Service regiment in the war and did 
splendidly. He is very good to us here.” 

“So it seems. From what I gathered at Mess last 
night he appears to provide all our sport for us.” 

“Yes; he arranges his shoots and the pigsticking 
meets for days on which the officers of the regiment 
are free to go out with him. When we can travel by 
[ 6 ] 


THE GREY BOAR 


road he sends his carriages for us, lends us horses 
and has camels to follow us with lunch, ice and 
drinks wherever we go.” 

‘‘What a good fellow he must be!” exclaimed 
Wargrave. “I am glad we get pigsticking here. I’ve 
always longed for it, but never have been anywhere 
before where there was any, as you know.” 

“It’s lucky for us that the sport here is good; 
for without it life in Rohar would be too awful to 
contemplate. It’s the last place the Lord made.” 

“It’s the hardest place to reach I’ve ever known,” 
said Wargrave. “It was a shock to learn that, after 
forty-eight hours in the train, I had two more days 
to travel after leaving the railway.” 

“How did you like that forty miles in a camel 
train over the salt desert? That made you sit up 
a bit, eh?” 

“It was awful. The heat and the glare off the 
sand nearly killed me. You say there is no society 
here?” 

“Society? The only Europeans here or in the 
whole State, besides those of us in the regiment, are 
the Resident and his wife.” 

“What is a Resident, exactly?” 

“A Political Officer appointed by the Government 
of India to be a sort of adviser to a rajah and to 
keep a check on him if he rules his State badly. I 
shouldn’t imagine that our fellow here. Major 
Norton, would be much good as an adviser to 

[7] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

anybody. The only thing he seems to know any- 
thing about is insects. He’s quite a famous ento- 
mologist. Personally he’s not a bad sort, but a bit 
of a bore.” 

“What’s his wife like?” 

“Oh, very different. Much younger and fond of 
gaiety, I think. Not that she can get any here. 
She’s a decidedly pretty woman. I haven’t seen 
much of her; for she has been away most of 
the time, that the regiment has been here. She 
has relatives in Calcutta and stays a lot with 
them.” 

“I don’t blame her,” said Wargrave, laughing. 
“Rohar must be a very deadly place for a young 
woman. No amusements. No dances. No shops. 
And the only female society the wives of the Colonel 
and the Doctor.” 

“Luckily for Mrs. Norton she is rather keen on 
sport and is a good rider. You’ll probably meet 
her to-day; for she generally comes out pigsticking 
with us, though she doesn’t carry a spear. I’ve 
promised to take her shooting with us the next time 
we go. Hullo! here are the ponies at last. Are you 
ready, Frank?” 

The two officers rose, as their syces, or native 
grooms, came up before the bungalow leading two 
ponies, a Waler and an Arab. Raymond walked 
over to the bundle of spears and selected one with 
a leaf-shaped steel head. 

[ 8 ] 


THE GREY BOAR 

‘Try this, Frank,” he said. “See if it suits you. 
You don’t want too long a spear.” 

His companion balanced it in his hand. 

“Yes, it seems all right. I say, old chap, how 
does one go for the pig? Do you thrust at him?” 

“No; just ride hard at him with the spear pointed 
and held with stiffened arm. Your impetus will 
drive the steel well home into him.” 

Mounting their ponies they started, the syces 
carrying the spears and following them at a steady 
run as they trotted down the sandy road leading to 
the city, where at the Palace they were to meet the 
Maharajah and the other sportsmen. The sky was 
paling fast at the coming of the dawn; and they 
could discern the dozen bungalows and the Regi- 
mental Lines, or barracks, comprising the little 
cantonment, above which towered the dark mass of 
a rocky hill crowned by the ruined walls of an old 
native fort. On either side of their route the 
country was flat and at first barren. But, as they 
neared the capital, they passed through cultivation 
and rode by green fields irrigated from deep wells, 
by hamlets of palm-thatched mud huts where no 
one yet stirred, and on to where the high embrasured 
walls of the city rose above the plain. Under the 
vaulted arch of the old gateway the ponies clattered, 
along through the narrow, silent streets of gaily- 
painted, wooden-balconied houses, at that hour 
closely shuttered, until the Palace was reached as 

[9] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

the rising sun began to flush the sky with rose-pink. 

The guard of sepoys at the great gate saluted as 
the two officers rode into the wide, paved courtyard 
lined by high, many-windowed buildings. In the 
centre of it a group of horsemen, nobles of the State 
or officials of the Palace in gay dresses and bright- 
coloured puggris, or turbans, with gold or silver- 
hilted swords hanging from their belts, sat on 
their restless animals behind the Maharajah, a 
pleasant-faced, athletic man in a white flannel coat, 
riding-breeches and long, soft leather boots, mounted 
on a tall Waler gelding. He was chatting with four 
or five other officers of the Punjaubis and raised his 
hand to his forehead as the newcomers rode up and 
lifted their hats to him. 

‘^Good morning. Your Highness,” said Raymond. 
“I hope weTe not late. Let me present Mr. 
Wargrave of our regiment, who has just returned 
from England.” 

With a genial smile the Maharajah leant forward 
and held out his hand. 

‘T am glad to make your acquaintance, Mr. 
Wargrave,” he said, ‘‘and very pleased to see you 
out with us to-day. Are you fond of pigsticking?” 

“IVe never had the chance of doing any before, 
Your Highness,” replied Frank, shaking his hand. 
“I’m awfully anxious to try it; but, being a novice, 
I’m afraid I’ll only be in the way.” 

“I’m sure you won’t,” said the Maharajah 

[lO] 


THE GREY BOAR 


courteously. His command of English was per- 
fect. “Pigsticking is not at all difficult; and I hear 
that you are a good rider.” 

He looked at his watch and then, turning in the 
saddle, addressed another officer of the regiment 
who was chaffing Raymond for being late: 

“Are we all here now, Captain Ross?” 

“Yes, sir. These two lazy fellows are the last,” 
replied Ross laughingly. 

“Very well, gentlemen, we’ll start.” 

He waved his hand; and at the signal two black- 
bearded sowars f or soldiers of his cavalry regiment, 
dashed by him and out through the Palace gates 
at a hard-gallop, leading the way past the guard, 
who turned out and presented arms as the Maha- 
rajah and the British officers, together with the 
crowd of nobles, officials and mounted attendants, 
followed at a smart pace. The city was now waking 
to life. From their windows the sleepy inhabitants 
stared at the party, mostly too stupefied at that 
hour to recognise and salute their ruler. Pot-bellied 
naked brown babies waddled on to the verandahs 
to gaze thumb in mouth at the riders. Pariah dogs, 
nosing at the gutters and rubbish-heaps that scented 
the air, bolted out of the way of the horses’ hoofs. 

As the sportsmen passed out of the city gates the 
sun was rising above the horizon, the terrible Hot 
Weather sun of India, whose advent ushers in the 
long hours of gasping, breathless heat. For a mile 
[II] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

or so the route lay through fertile gardens and fields. 
Then suddenly the cultivation ended abruptly on 
the edge of a sandy desert that, seamed with nullahs, 
or deep, steep-sided ravines, and dotted with tall 
clumps of thorny cactus, stretched away to the 
horizon. The road became a barely discernible 
track; but the two sowars cantered on, confidently 
heading for the spot where the fresh horses awaited 
the party. 

Over the sand the riders swept, past a slow-plod- 
ding elephant lumbering back to the city with a load 
of fodder, by groups of tethered camels. Hares 
started up in alarm and boimded away, grey 
partridges whirred up and yellow-beaked minas 
flew off chattering indignantly. The slight morning 
coolness soon vanished; and Wargrave, soft and 
somewhat out of condition after his weeks of ship- 
board life, wiped his streaming face often before 
the guiding sowars threw up their hands in warning 
and vanished slowly from sight as their sure-footed 
horses picked their way down a steep nullah. This 
was the ravine in which the quarry hid. One after 
another of the riders followed the leaders down the 
narrow track, trotted across the sandy, rock-strewn 
river-bed and climbed up the far side to where the 
fresh horses and a picturesque mob of wild-looking 
beaters stood awaiting them. 

Among the animals Wargrave noticed a smart 
grey Arab pony with a side-saddle. 

[ 12 ] 


THE GREY BOAR 


“I see Mrs. Norton intends coming out with 
us,” observed the Maharajah looking at the pony. 
^^We must wait for her.” 

‘Tt wonT be for long, sir,” said Raymond, pointing 
to a rising trail of dust on the track by which they 
had come. “I’ll bet that is she.” 

All turned to watch the approaching rider draw 
near, until they could see that it was a lady galloping 
furiously over the sand. 

“By Jove, she can ridel” exclaimed Wargrave 
admiringly. “I hope she’ll see the niMah. She’s 
heading straight for it.” 

A shouted warning caused her to pull up almost 
on the brink; and in a few minutes she joined the 
waiting group. Wargrave looked with interest at 
her, as she sat on her panting horse talking to the 
Maharajah and the other officers, who had dis- 
mounted. 

Mrs. Norton was a decidedly graceful and pretty 
woman. The rounded curves of her shapely figure 
were set off to advantage by her riding-costume. 
Her eyes were especially attractive, greenish-grey 
eyes fringed by long black lashes under curved dark 
brows contrasting with the warm auburn tint of the 
hair that showed under her sun-hat. Her complexion 
was dazzlingly fair. Her mouth was rather large 
and voluptuous with full red lips and even white 
teeth. Bewitching dimples played in the pink 
cheeks. Even from a man like Wargrave, fresh 

[13] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

from England and consequently more inclined to 
be critical of female beauty than were his comrades, 
who for many months had seen so few white women, 
Mrs. Norton’s good looks could justly claim full 
meed of admiration and approval. 

Accepting Captain Ross’s aid she slipped lightly 
from her saddle to the ground and on foot looked 
as graceful as she did when mounted. Ray- 
mond brought his friend to her and introduced 
him. 

Holding out a small and shapely hand in a dainty 
leather gauntlet she said in a frank and pleasant 
manner: 

‘‘How do you do, Mr. Wargrave? You are a 
fortunate person to have been in England so lately. 
I haven’t seen it for nearly three years. Weren’t 
you sorry to leave it?” 

“Not in the least, Mrs. Norton. I’d far sooner 
be doing this,” he waved his hand towards the horses 
and the open desert, “than fooling about Piccadilly 
and the Park.” 

“Oh, but don’t you miss the gaieties of town, the 
theatres, the dances? And then the shops and the 
new fashions — ^but you’re a man, and they’d mean 
nothing to you.” 

The Maharajah broke in: 

“Mrs. Norton, I think we had better mount. The 
beaters are going in; and the shihojris (hunters) tell 

[14] 


THE GREY BOAR 


me that the nullah swarms with pig. There are at 
least half a dozen rideable boar in it.^^ 

In pigsticking only well-grown boars are pursued, 
sows and immature boars being unmolested. 

Ross started forward to help Mrs. Norton on to 
her fresh pony; but Wargrave refused to surrender 
the advantage of his proximity to her. So it was 
into his hand she put her small foot in its well- 
made riding-boot and was swung up by him. 

The saddles of the rest of the party had been 
changed on to the horses that the Maharajah had 
provided. The beaters streamed down the steep 
bank into the ravine which some distance away was 
filled with dense scrub affording good cover for the 
quarry. Forming line they moved through it with 
shrill yells, the blare of horns, the beating of tom- 
toms and a spluttering fire of blank cartridges from 
old muskets. The riders mounted and, spear in 
hand, eagerly watched their progress through the 
jungle. Wargrave found himself beside Mrs. 
Norton; but, after exchanging a few words, he for- 
got her presence as, his heart beating fast with a 
true sportsman’s excitement, he strained his eyes 
for the first sight of a wild boar. 

Suddenly, several hundred yards away, he saw 
a squat, dark animal emerge from the tangled scrub 
and, climbing up the nullah on their side, stride 
away over the sand with a peculiar bounding motion 
that reminded Wargrave of a rocking-horse. All 

[15] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

eyes were turned towards the Maharajah, who would 
decide whether the animal were worthy of pursuit 
or not. He gazed after it for a few moments, then 
raised his hand. 

At the welcome signal all dashed off after the boar 
at a furious gallop, opening out as they went to give 
play for their spears. Wild with excitement. War- 
grave struck spurs to his horse, which needed no 
urging, being as filled with the lust of the chase as 
was the man on its back. Like a cavalry charge 
the riders thundered in a mad rush behind His 
Highness, whose faster mount carried him at once 
ahead of the rest. He soon overtook the boar. 
Lowering his spear-point the Maharajah bent for- 
ward in the saddle; but at the last moment the pig 
^^jinked,’^ that is, turned sharply at right angles to 
his former course, and bounded away untouched, 
while the baffled sportsman was carried on help- 
lessly by his excited horse. 

Wargrave, following at some distance to the 
Maharajah’s right rear, saw to his mingled joy and 
trepidation the boar only a short way in front of 
him. 

“Ride, ride hardl” cried Mrs. Norton almost 
alongside him. 

Frank drove his spurs in; and the gaunt, raw- 
boned countrybred under him sprang forward. But 
jiust as it had all but reached the quarry, the latter 
jinked again and Wargrave was borne on, tugging 

[i6] 


THE GREY BOAR 

vainly at the horse’s iron jaws. But the boar had 
short shrift. With a rush Ross closed on it and 
before it could swerve off sent his spear deep into 
its side and, galloping on, turned his hand over, 
drawing out the lance. The pig was staggered by 
the shock but started to run on. Before it could 
get up speed one of the Indian nobles dashed at it 
with wild yells and speared it again. 

The thrust this time was mortal. The boar 
staggered on a few steps, then stumbled and fell 
heavily to the ground. The hunters reined in their 
sweating horses and gathered round it. 

“Not a big animal,” commented the Maharajah, 
scrutinising it with the eye of an expert. “About 
thirty-four inches high, I think. But the tusks are 
good. They’re yours. Captain Ross, aren’t they?” 

“Yes, Your Highness, I think so,” replied Ross. 

Pigsticking law awards the trophy to the rider 
whose spear first inflicts a wound on the boar. 

“Better luck next time, Mr. Wargrave,” said Mrs. 
Norton, riding up to him. “I thought you were sure 
of him when he jinked away from the Marharajah.” 

“To be quite candid I was rather relieved that I 
didn’t get the chance, Mrs. Norton,” replied the 
subaltern. “As I’ve never been out after pig before 
I didn’t quite know what to do. However, I’ve seen 
now that it isn’t very difficult; so I hope I’ll get an 
opportunity later.” 

“You are sure to, Mr. Wargrave,” remarked the 

[17] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

Maharajah. ^^There are several boars left in cover; 
and the men are going in again.” 

The tatterdemalion mob of beaters was descend- 
ing into the nullah; and soon the wild din broke 
out once more. A gaunt grey boar with long and 
gleaming tusks was seen to emerge from the scrub 
and climb the far bank of the ravine, where he stood 
safely out of reach but in full view of the tantalised 
hunters. But a string of laden camels passing over 
the desert scared him back again; and while the 
riders watched in eager excitement, he slowly 
descended into the nullah, crossed it and came up 
on the near side some hundreds of yards away. 

The Maharajah raised his spear. 

‘‘Ride!” he cried. 

“Go like the devil, Frank!” shouted Raymond, 
as the scurrying horsemen swept in a body over the 
sand and he found himself for a moment beside his 
friend. “He’s a beauty. Forty inches. I’ll swear. 
Splendid tusks.” 

Wargrave crouched like a jockey in the saddle as 
the riders raced madly after the boar. The Indians 
among them, wildly excited, brandished their lances 
and uttered fierce cries as they galloped along. Their 
Maharajah’s speedier mount again took the lead; 
but even in India sport is democratic and his nobles, 
attendants and soldiers all tried to overtake and 
pass him. The white men, as is their wont, rode in 
silence but none the less keenly excited. Over sand 

[i8] 


THE GREY BOAR 


and stones, past tall, prickly cactus-plants, in hot 
pursuit all flew at racing speed. 

It was a long chase; for the old grey boar was 
speedy, cunning, and a master of wiles. First one 
pursuer, then another, then a third and a fourth, 
found himself almost upon the quarry and bent down 
with outstretched, eager spear only to be baffled by 
a swift jink and carried on helplessly, pulling vainly 
at the reins. 

At length a sudden turn threw out all the field 
except the Maharajah, who had foreseen it and 
ridden off to intercept the now tiring boar. Over- 
taking it he bent forward and wounded it slightly. 
The brute instantly swung in upon his horse, and 
with a fierce grunt dashed under it and leapt up 
at it with a toss of the head that gave an upward 
thrust to the long, curved tusk. In an instant the 
horse was ripped open and brought crashing to the 
ground, pinning its rider’s leg to the earth beneath 
it. The boar turned again, marked the prostrate 
man, and with a savage gleam in its little eyes 
charged the Maharajah, its gleaming ivory tusks, 
six inches long, as sharp and deadly as an Afridi’s 
knife. 


[19] 


CHAPTER II 


YOUTH CALLS TO YOUTH 

But at that moment a shout made the boar 
hesitate, and Raymond dashed in on it at racing 
speed, driving his spear so deeply into its side that, 
as he swept on, the tough bamboo broke like match- 
wood. The stricken beast tottered forward a yard or 
two, then turned and stood undauntedly at bay, as a 
sowar rode at it. But before his steel could touch 
its hide it shuddered and sank to the ground dead. 

The dying horse was lifted off the Maharajah who, 
with the courage of his race, had remained calm in 
the face of the onrushing death. He was assisted 
to rise, but was so severely shaken and bruised 
that at first he was unable to stand without support. 
Leaning on the arm of one of his nobles he held 
out his hand to Raymond, when the latter rode 
up, and thanked him gratefully for his timely 
aid. Then the exhausted but gallant prince sat 
down on the sand to recover himself. But he assured 
everyone that he was not hurt and, insisting that 
the sport should go on, gave orders for the beat to 
continue. 

Wargrave had chanced to dismount to tighten the 
girth of Mrs. Norton’s horse, when a fresh boar 
broke from cover and was instantly pursued by all 
the others of the hunt. The subaltern ruefully ac- 
[20] 


YOUTH CALLS TO YOUTH 


cepted the lady’s apologies and hurriedly swung him- 
self up into the saddle again to follow, when his com- 
panion cried: 

‘‘Look! Look, Mr. Wargravel There’s another. 
Come, we’ll have him all to ourselves.” 

And striking her pony with her gold-mounted whip 
she dashed off at a gallop after a grey old boar that 
had craftily kept close in cover and crept out quietly 
after the beaters had passed. Wargrave, filled with 
excitement, struck spurs to his mount and raced after 
her, soon catching up and passing her. Over the 
sand pitted with holes and strewn with loose stones 
they raced, the boar bounding before them with 
rocking motion and leading them in a long, 
stern chase. Again and again the beast swerved; 
but at last with a fierce thrill Wargrave felt the steel 
head of the spear strike home in the quarry. As he 
was carried on past it he withdrew the weapon, then 
pulled his panting horse round. The boar was 
checked; but the wound only infuriated him and 
aroused his fighting ardour. He dashed at Mrs. 
Norton; but, as Frank turned, the game brute 
recognised the more dangerous adversary, and with 
a fierce grunt charged savagely at him. Wargrave 
plunged his spurs into his horse, which sprang for- 
ward, just clearing the boar’s snout, as the rider leant 
well out and speared the pig through the heart. 
Then with a wild, exultant whoop the subaltern 
swung round in the saddle and saw the animal totter 
[ 21 ] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

forward and collapse on the sand. Only a sportsman 
could realise his feeling of triumph at the fall of his 
first boar. 

Mrs. Norton was almost as excited as he, her 
sparkling eyes and face flushed a becoming pink, 
making her even prettier in his eyes as she rode up 
and congratulated him. 

^^Well done, Mr. Wargravel” she cried, trotting 
up to where he sat on his panting horse over the 
dead boar. ‘‘You did that splendidly! And the 
very first time youVe been out pigsticking, tool’^ 

“It was just luck,” replied the subaltern modestly, 
not ill-pleased at her praise. 

“What a glorious run he gave us!” she continued. 
“And we had it all to ourselves, which made it better. 
I^m always afraid of the Maharajah^s followers, for 
in a run they ride so recklessly and carry their spears 
so carelessly that it’s a wonder they don’t kill some- 
one every time. Will you help me down, please? I 
must give Martian a rest after that gallop.” 

With Wargrave’s aid she dropped lightly to the 
ground; and he remarked again with admiration the 
graceful lines and rounded curves of her figure as she 
walked to the dead boar and touched the tusks. 

“What a splendid pair! You are lucky,” she ex- 
claimed. “The biggest anyone has got yet this 
season.” 

“I hope you’ll allow me to offer them to you,” said 
Wargrave generously, although it cost him a pang to 
[ 22 ] 


YOUTH CALLS TO YOUTH 


surrender the precious trophy. ‘‘You deserve them, 
for you rode so well after the boar and I believe 
you’d have got him if you’d carried a spear.” 

“No, indeed, Mr. Wargrave; I wouldn’t dream 
of taking them,” she replied, laughing; “but I ap- 
preciate the nobility of your self-denial. This is 
your first pig; and I know what that means to a 
man. Now we must find a sowar to get the coolies 
to bring the boar in. But I wonder where we 
are. Where is everyone?” 

Wargrave looked about him and for the first time 
realised that they were far out in the desert without 
a landmark to guide them. On every side the sand 
stretched away to the horizon, its flat expanse broken 
only by clumps of bristling cactus or very rarely 
the tall stem of a palm tree. Of the others of the 
party there was no sign. His companion and he 
seemed to be alone in the world; and he began to 
wonder apprehensively if they were destined to 
undergo the unpleasant experience of being lost in 
the desert. The sun high overhead afforded no help ; 
and Wargrave remembered neither the direction of 
the city nor where lay the ravine in which the beat 
had taken place. 

“You don’t happen to know where we are, I sup- 
pose, Mrs. Norton?” he asked his companion. 

“I haven’t the least idea. It looks as if we’re 
lost,” she replied calmly. “We had better wait 
quietly where we are instead of wandering about 

[23] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

trying to find our way. When we are missed the 
Maharajah will probably send somebody to look 
for us.’’ 

“I daresay you’re right,” said Wargrave. ‘‘You 
know more about the desert than I do. By Jove, 
I’d give anything to come across the camel that 
Raymond tells me brings out drinks and ice. My 
throat is parched. Aren’t you very thirsty?” 

“Terribly so. Isn’t the heat awful?” she ex- 
claimed, trying to fan herself with the few inches of 
cambric and lace that represented a handkerchief, 

“Awful. The blood seems to be boiling in my 
head,” gasped the subaltern. “I’ve never felt heat 
like this anywhere else in India. But, thank good- 
ness, it seems to be clouding over. That will make 
it cooler.” 

Mrs. Norton looked around. A dun veil was being 
swiftly drawn up over sun and sky and blotting out 
the landscape. 

“Good gracious! There’s worse trouble coming. 
That’s a sandstorm,” she cried, for the first time 
exhibiting a sign of nervousness. 

“Good heavens, how pleasant! Are we going to 
be buried under a mound of sand, like the pictures 
we used to have in our schoolbooks of caravans over- 
whelmed in the Sahara?” 

Mrs. Norton smiled. 

“Not quite as bad as that,” she answered. “But 
unpleasant enough, I assure you. If only we had 
any shelter!” 


[24] 


YOUTH CALLS TO YOUTH 


Wargrave looked around desperately. He had 
hitherto no experience of desert country; and the 
sudden darkness and the grim menace of the ap- 
proaching black wall of the sandstorm seemed to 
threaten disaster. He saw a thick clump of cactus 
half a mile away. 

“We^d better make for that,” he said, pointing 
to it. ^Tt will serve to break the force of the wind 
if we get to leeward of it. Let^s mount.” 

He put her on her horse and then swung himself 
up into the saddle. Together they raced for the 
scant shelter before the dark menace overspreading 
earth and sky. The sun was now hidden; but that 
brought no relief, for the heat was even more stifling 
and oppressive than before. The wind seemed like 
a blast of hot air from an opened furnace door. 

Pulling up when they reached the dense thicket 
of cactus with its broad green leaves studded with 
cruel thorns, Wargrave jumped down and lifted Mrs. 
Norton from the saddle. The horses followed them 
instinctively, as they pressed as closely as they could 
to the shelter of the inhospitable plant. The animals 
turned their tails towards the approaching storm 
and instinctively huddled against their human com- 
panions in distress. Wargrave took off his jacket 
and spread it around Mrs. Norton's head, holding 
her to him. 

With a shrill wail the dark storm swept down upon 
them, and a million sharp particles of sand beat on 

[25] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

them, stinging, smothering, choking them. The 
horses crowded nearer to the man, and the woman 
clung tighter to him as he wrapped her more closely 
in the protecting cloth. He felt suffocated, stifled, 
his lungs bursting, his throat burning, while every 
breath he drew was laden with the irritating sand. 
It penetrated through all the openings of his cloth- 
ing, down his collar, inside his shirt, into his 
boots. The heat was terrific, unbearable, the 
darkness intense. Wargrave began to wonder if his 
first apprehensions were not justified, if they could 
hope to escape alive or were destined to be buried 
under the stifling pall that enveloped them. He felt 
against him the soft body of the woman clinging 
desperately to him; and the warm contact thrilled 
him. A feeling of pity, of tenderness for her awoke 
in him at the thought that this young and attractive 
being was fated perhaps to perish by so awful a 
death. And instinctively, unconsciously, he held her 
closer to him. 

For minutes that seemed hours the storm continued 
to shriek and roar over and around them. But at 
length the choking waves began to diminish in 
density and slowly, gradually, the deadly, smother- 
ing pall was lifted from them. The black wall passed 
on and Wargrave watched it moving away over the 
desert. The storm had lasted half an hour, but the 
subaltern believed its duration to have been hours. 
The fine grit had penetrated into the case of hi^ 
[26] 


YOUTH CALLS TO YOUTH 


wrist-watch and stopped it. A cool, refreshing 
breeze sprang up. Pulling his jacket off Mrs. Nor- 
ton's head, Wargrave said: 

“It^s all over at last.’^ 

“Oh, thank God!’’ she exclaimed fervently, stand- 
ing erect and drawing a deep breath of cool air into 
her labouring lungs. “I thought I was going to be 
smothered.” 

“It was a decidedly unpleasant experience and one 
I don’t want to try again. My throat is parched; 
I must have swallowed tons of sand. And look at 
the state I’m in!” 

He was powdered thick with it, clothes, hair, eye- 
brows, grey with it. It had caked on his face damp 
with perspiration. 

“Thanks to your jacket I’ve escaped pretty well, 
although I was almost suffocated,” she said. “Well, 
now that it is over surely someone will come to look 
for us.” 

“Then we had better get up on our horses and 
move out into the open. We’ll be more visible,” 
said Wargrave. 

Yet he felt a strange reluctance to quit the spot; 
for the thought came to him that their unpleasant 
experience in it would henceforth be a link between 
them. A few hours before he had not known of this 
woman’s existence! and now he had held her to his 
breast and tried to protect her against the forces of 
Nature. The same idea seemed born in her mind 

[27] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

at the same time; for, when he had brushed the 
dust off her saddle and lifted her on to it, she turned 
to look with interest at the spot as they rode away 
from it. 

They had not long to wait out in the open before 
they saw three or four riders spread over the desert 
apparently looking for them, so they cantered to- 
wards them. As soon as they were seen by the 
search party a sowar galloped to meet them and, 
saluting, told them that the Maharajah and the rest 
had taken refuge from the storm in a village a couple 
of miles away. Then from the kamarband, or broad 
cloth encircling his waist like a sash, he produced 
two bottles of sodawater which he opened and gave 
to them. The liquid was warm, but nevertheless 
was acceptable to their parched throats. 

They followed their guide at a gallop and soon 
were being welcomed by the rest of the party in ^ 
small village of low mud huts. A couple of kneeling 
camels, bubbling, squealing and viciously trying to 
bite everyone within reach, were being unloaded by 
some of the Maharajah’s servants. Other attendants 
were spreading a white cloth on the ground by a well 
under a couple of tall palm-trees and laying on it an 
excellent cold lunch for the Europeans, with bottles 
of champagne standing in silver pails filled with ice. 

As soon as his anxiety on Mrs. Norton’s account 
was relieved by her arrival, His Highness, who as 
an orthodox Hindu could not eat with his guests, 
[28] 


YOUTH CALLS TO YOUTH 


begged them to excuse him and, being helped with 
difficulty on his horse, rode slowly off, still shaken 
and sorely bruised by his fall. His nobles and 
officials accompanied him. 

After lunch all went to inspect the heap of slain 
boars laid on the ground in the shade of a hut. War- 
grave’s kill had been added to it. Much to the 
subaltern’s delight its tusk proved to be the longest 
and finest of all; and he was warmly congratulated 
by the more experienced pigstickers on his success. 
Shortly afterwards the beaters went into the nullah 
again; and a few more runs added another couple 
of boars to the bag. Then, after iced drinks while 
their saddles were being changed back on to their 
own horses, the Britishers mounted and started on 
their homeward journey. 

Without quite knowing how it happened War- 
grave found himself riding beside Mrs. Norton 
behind the rest of the party. On the way back they 
chatted freely and without restraint, like old friends. 
For the incidents of the day had served to sweep 
away formality between them and to give them a 
sense of long acquaintanceship and mutual liking. 
And, when the time came for Mrs. Norton to separate 
from the others as she reached the spot where the 
road to the Residency branched off, the subaltern 
volunteered to accompany her. 

It had not taken them long to discover that they 
had several tastes in common. 

‘ [29] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

“So you like good music?’^ she said after a chance 
remark of his. “It is pleasant to find a kindred 
spirit in this desolate place. The ladies and the 
other officers of your regiment are Philistines. 
Ragtime is more in their line than Grieg or Brahms. 
And the other day Captain Ross asked me if Tschai- 
kowsky wasn’t the Russian dancer at the Coliseum 
in town.” 

Wargrave laughed. 

“I know. I became very unpopular when I was 
Band President and made our band play Wagner 
all one night during Mess. I gave up trying to 
elevate their musical taste When the Colonel told 
me to order the bandmaster to ‘stop that awful 
rubbish and play something good, like the selection 
from the last London revue/ ” 

“Are you a musician yourself?” she asked. 

“I play the violin.” 

“Oh, how ripping! You must come often and 
practise with me. I’ve an excellent piano; but I 
rarely touch it now. My husband takes no interest 
in music — or indeed, in anything else I like. But, 
then, I am not thrilled by his one absorbing passion 
in life — ^insects. So we’re quits, I suppose.” 

Their horses were walking silently over the soft 
sand; and Wargrave heard her give a little sigh. 
Was it possible, he wondered, that the husband of 
this charming woman did not appreciate her ^d her 
attractions ^ he ought? 

[30] 


YOUTH CALLS TO YOUTH 

She went on with a change of manner: 

‘‘When are you coming to call on me? I am a: 
Duty Call, you know. All officers are supposed to 
leave cards on the Palace and the Residency.” 

“The call on you will be a pleasure, I assure you, 
not a mere duty, Mrs. Norton,” said the subaltern 
with a touch of earnestness. “May I come to- 
morrow?” 

“Yes, please do. Come early for tea and bring 
your violin. It will be delightful to have some music 
again. I have not opened my piano for months; but 
I’ll begin to practise to-night. I have one or two 
pieces with violin obligato 

So, chatting and at every step finding something 
fresh to like in each other, they rode along down 
sandy lanes hemmed in by prickly aloe hedges, by 
deep wells and creaking water-wheels where patient 
bullocks toiled in the sun to draw up the gushing 
water to irrigate the green fields so reposeful to the 
eye after the glaring desert. They passed by 
thatched mud huts outside which naked brown 
babies sprawled in the dust and deer-eyed women 
turned the hand-querns that ground the flour for 
their household’s evening meal. Stiff and sore though 
Wargrave was after these many hours of his first 
day in the saddle for so long, he thoroughly enjoyed 
his ride back with so attractive a companion. 

When they reached the Residency, a fine, airy 
building of white stone standing in large, well-kept 

[31] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

grounds, he felt quite reluctant to part with her. 
But, declining her invitation to enter, he renewed 
his promise to call on the following day and rode on 
to his bungalow. 

When he was alone he realised for the first time 
the effects of fatigue, thirst and the broiling heat 
of the afternoon sun. But Mrs. Norton was more 
in his thoughts than the exciting events of the day 
as he trotted painfully on towards his bungalow. 

The house was closely shut and shuttered against 
the outside heat, and Raymond was asleep, enjoy- 
ing a welcome siesta after the early start and hard 
exercise. Wargrave entered his own bare and com- 
fortless bedroom, and with the help of his ‘‘boy” — 
as Indian body-servants are termed — ^proceeded to 
undress. Then, attired in a big towel and slippers, 
he passed into the small, stone-paved apartment 
dignified with the title of bathroom which opened 
off his bedroom. 

After his ablutions Wargrave lay down on his 
bed and slept for an hour or two until awakened by 
Raymond’s voice bidding him join him at tea. Stroll- 
ing in pyjamas and slippers into the sitting-room 
which they shared the subaltern found his comrade 
lying lazily in a long chair and attired in the same 
cool costume. The outer doors and windows of the 
bungalow were still closed against the brooding heat 
outside. Inside the house the temperature was little 
cooler despite the punkah which droned monoto- 
nously overhead. 


[32] 


YOUTH CALLS TO YOUTH 


Over their tea the two young soldiers discussed 
the day’s sport, recalling every incident of each run 
and kill, until the servants came in to throw open the 
doors and windows in hope of a faint breath of 
evening coolness. The punkah stopped, and the 
coolie who pulled it shuffled away. 

After tea Raymond took his companion to inspect 
the cantonment, which Wargrave had not yet seen, 
for he had not reached it until after dusk the 
previous day. It consisted only of the Mess, the 
Regimental Office, and about ten bungalows for the 
officers, single-storied brick or rubble-walled build- 
ings, thatched or tiled. Some of them were unoccupied 
and were tumbling in ruins. There was nothing else 
— ^not even the ^^general shop” usual in most small 
cantonments. Not a spool of thread, not a tin of 
sardines, could be purchased within a three days’ 
journey. Most of the food supplies and almost 
everything else had to be brought from Bombay. 
Around the bungalow the compounds were simply 
patches of the universal sands surrounded by mud 
walls. No flowers, no trees, not even a blade of 
grass, relieved the dull monotony. Altogether the 
cantonment of Rohar was an unlovely and unin- 
teresting place. Yet it is but an example of many 
such stations in India, lonely and soul-deadening, 
some of which have not even its saving grace of 
sport to enliven existence in them. 

After a visit to the Lines — the rows of single- 
storied detached brick buildings, one to a company, 

[33] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

that housed the native ranks of the regiment — ^where 
the Indian officers and sepoys (as native infantry 
soldiers are called) rushed out to crowd round and 
welcome back their popular officer, Wargrave and 
Raymond strolled to the Mess. Here in the ante- 
room other British officers of the corps, tired out 
after the day’s sport, were lying in easy chairs, read- 
ing the three days’ old Bombay newspaper just 
arrived and the three weeks’ old English journals 
until it was time to return to their bungalows and 
dress for dinner. 

Early on the following afternoon Wargrave 
borrowed Raymond’s bamboo cart and pony — for 
he had sold his own trap and horses before going 
on leave to England and had not yet had time to 
buy new ones — and drove to the Residency. When 
he pulled up before the hall-door and in Anglo-Indian 
fashion shouted “Boy!” from his seat in the vehicle, 
a tall, stately Indian servant in a long, gold-laced 
red coat reaching below the knees and embroidered 
on the breast with the Imperial monogram in gold, 
came out and held a small silver tray to him. War- 
grave placed a couple of his visiting cards on it, 
and the gorgeous apparition (known as a chuprassi) 
retired into the building with them. While he was 
gone Wargrave looked with pleasure at the brilliant 
flower-beds, green lawn and tall plants and bushes 
glowing with colour of the carefully-tended and well- 
watered Residency garden, which contrasted strik- 

[34] 


YOUTH CALLS TO YOUTH 

ingly with the dry, bare compounds of the canton- 
ment. 

In a minute or two the chuprassi returned and 
said: 

“Salaam 1’^ 

Wargrave, hooking up the reins, climbed down 
from the trap, leaving Raymond’s syce in charge 
of the pony, and entered the grateful coolness of the 
lofty hall. Here another chuprassi took his hat and, 
holding out a pen for him, indicated the red-bound 
Visitor’s Book, in which he was to inscribe his name. 
Then one of the servants led the way up the broad 
staircase into a large and well-furnished drawing- 
room extending along the whole front of the 
building. Here Wargrave foimd Mrs. Norton 
awaiting him. She looked very lovely in a cool 
white dress of muslin — ^but muslin shaped by a 
master-hand of Paris. She welcomed him gaily and 
made him feel at once on the footing of an old 
friend. 

She was genuinely glad to see him again. To this 
young and attractive woman, full of the joy of living, 
hardly more than a girl, yet married to a much older 
man, sober-minded, stolid and uncongenial to her, 
and buried in this dull and lonely station, Wargrave 
had appealed instantly. Youth calls to youth, and 
she hailed his advent into her monotonous life as a 
child greets the coming of a playfellow. With the 
other two ladies in Rohar she had nothing in com- 

[35] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

mon. Both were middle-aged, serious and spiteful. 
To them her youth and beauty were an offence; and 
from the first day of their acquaintance with her 
they had disliked her. As for the other officers of 
the regiment none of them attracted her; for, good 
fellows as they were, none shared any of her tastes 
except her love of sport. But in Wargrave she had 
already recognised a companion, a playmate, one to 
whom music, art and poetry appealed as they did 
to her. 

On his side Frank, heart-whole but fond of the 
society of the opposite sex, was at once attracted 
by this charming member of it who had tastes akin 
to his own. Her beauty pleased his beauty-loving 
eye; and he would not have been man if her readiness 
to meet him on a footing of friendship had not 
flattered him. He had thought that a great draw- 
back to life in Rohar would be the lack of feminine 
companionship; for the ladies of his regiment were 
not at all congenial, although he did not dislike them. 
But it was delightful to find in this desert spot this 
pretty and cultured woman, who would have been 
deemed attractive in London and who appeared 
trebly so in a dull and lonely Indian station. He had 
thought much of her since their meeting on the 
previous day; and although it never occurred to him 
to lose his heart to her or even attempt to flirt with 
her, yet he felt that her friendship would brighten 
existence for him in Rohar. Nor did the thought 
[36] 


YOUTH CALLS TO YOUTH 


strike him that possibly he might come to mean 
more to Mrs. Norton than she to him. For, while 
he had his work, his duties, the goodfellowship of 
the Mess and the friendship of his comrades to fill 
his life, she had nothing. She was utterly without 
interests, occupation or real companionship in 
Rohar. Her husband and she had nothing in 
common. No child had come during the five years 
of their marriage to link them together. And in this 
solitary place where there were no gaieties, no dis- 
tractions such as a young woman would naturally 
long for, she was lonely, very lonely indeed. 

It was little wonder that she snatched eagerly at 
the promise of an interesting friendship. Wargrave 
stood out and apart from the other officers of the 
regiment; and his companionship during the un- 
comfortable incident of the sandstorm bulked un- 
accountably large in her mind. It seemed to denote 
that he was destined to introduce a new element 
into her life. 

As they talked it was with increasing pleasure that 
she learnt they had so many tastes in common. She 
found that he played the violin well and was, 
moreover, the possessor of a voice tuneful and 
sympathetic, even if not perfectly trained. This 
made instant appeal to her and would have dis- 
posed her to regard him with favour even if she had 
not been already prepared to like him. 

The afternoon passed all too quickly for both 

[37] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

of them. Violet Norton had never enjoyed any 
hours in Rohar so much as these; and when, as 
she sat at the piano while Frank played an obligato, 
a servant came to enquire if she wished her horse or 
a carriage got ready for her usual evening ride or 
drive, she impatiently ordered him out of the room. 
When the time came for Wargrave to return to his 
bungalow to dress for dinner she begged him to stay 
^d dine with her. 

‘T shall be all alone; and it would be a charitable 
act to take pity on my solitude,’^ she said. ^‘My 
husband is dining at your Mess to-night.” 

“Thank you very much for asking me,” replied 
the subaltern. “I should have loved to accept your 
invitation; but it is our Guest Night and the Colonel 
likes all of us to be present at Mess on such 
evenings.” 

“Oh, I forgot!” she exclaimed. “I ought to have 
remembered; for Mr. Raymond told me the same 
thing only last week when I invited him informally. 
Well, you must come some other night soon.” 

Reluctant to part with her new playmate she 
accompanied him to the door and, to the scandal of 
the stately chuprassis, stood at it to watch him drive 
away and to wave him a last goodbye as he looked 
back when the pony turned out of the gate. 

India is a land of lightning friendships between 
men and women. 


[38] 


CHAP':ffiR III 


THE LOVE-SONG OF HAR DYAL 

The bugler was sounding the second mess-call 
as the Resident’s carriage drew up before the steps 
of the Mess verandah on which stood all the officers 
of the regiment, dressed in the white drill uniform 
worn at dinner in India during the hot weather. 
From the carriage Major Norton, a stout, middle- 
aged man in civilian evening dress, descended stiffly 
and shook hands with the Commandant of the 
battalion. Colonel Trevor, who had come down the 
steps to meet him and whose guest he was to be. 

On the verandah Wargrave was introduced to him 
by the Colonel and took his outstretched hand with 
reluctance; for Frank felt stirring in him a faint 
jealousy of the man who was Violet’s legal lord and 
an indefinite hostility to him for not appreciating 
his charming wife as he ought. And while the 
Resident was shaking hands with the others War- 
grave looked at him with interest. 

Major Norton was a very ordinary-looking man, 
more elderly in appearance than his years warranted. 
He was bald and clean-shaved but for scraps of side- 
whiskers that gave him a resemblance to the 
traditional stage-lawyer of amateur theatricals, a 

[39] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

likeness increased by his heavy and prosy manner. 
It was hard to believe that he had ever been a young 
subaltern, though such had once been the case, for 
the Indian Political Department is recruited chiefly 
from officers of the Indian Army. But he was never 
the gay and light-hearted individual that most junior 
subs, are at the beginning of their career. Even then 
he had been a sober and serious individual, favour- 
ably noted by his superiors as being earnest and 
painstaking. And now he was well thought of by the 
Heads of his Department; for his plodding and 
methodical disposition and his slavish adherence to 
rules and regulations had earned him the reputa- 
tion of being an eminently ^^safe’^ man. How such a 
gay, laughter-loving, coquettish and attractive 
woman as Violet Dering came to marry one so 
entirely her opposite puzzled everyone who did not 
know the inner history of a girl, one of a large 
family of daughters, given “her chance in life’’ by 
being sent out to relatives in Calcutta for one season, 
with a definite warning not to return home un- 
married under penalty of being turned out to face 
the world as a governess or hospital nurse. And 
Violet liked comfort and hated work. 

During dinner Wargrave found himself in- 
stinctively criticising Norton’s manner and con- 
versation, and rapidly arrived at the conclusion that 
Raymond had described him accurately. The 
Resident, though a very worthy individual, was un- 
[40] 


THE LOVE-SONG OF HAR DYAL 

doubtedly a bore; and Colonel Trevor, beside whom 
he sat, strove in vain to appear interested in his 
conversation. For he had heard his opinions on 
every subject on which Norton had any opinions 
over and over again. As the Resident was the only 
other European in the station he dined regularly 
at the Mess on the weekly Guest Night with one or 
other of the officers. He was not popular among 
them, but they considered it their duty to be 
victimised in turn to uphold the regiment^s reputa- 
tion for hospitality; and in consequence each 
resigned himself to act as his host. 

After dinner, as the Resident played neither cards 
nor billiards, the Colonel sat out on the verandah 
with him, all the while longing to be at the bridge- 
table inside; and, as his guest was a strict teetotaller, 
he did not like to order a drink for himself. So he 
tried to keep awake and hide his yawns while listen- 
ing to a prosy monologue on insects until the 
Residency carriage came to take Major Norton 
away. 

When his guest had left, the Colonel entered the 
anteroom heaving a sigh of relief. 

^Thew! thank God that^s over!^^ he exclaimed 
piously. “Really, Norton becomes more of a bore 
every day. I’m sick to death of hearing the life- 
story of every Indian insect for the hundredth time. 
I’ll dream of coleoptera and Polly ’optera and other 
weird beasties to-night.” 

[41] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

The other officers looked up and laughed. Ross 
rose from the bridge-table and said: 

^‘Come and take my place, sir; weVe finished the 
rubber. Have a drink; you want something to cheer 
you up after that infliction. Boy! whiskey-soda 
Commanding Sahib ke waste lao. (Bring a whiskey 
and soda for the Commanding officer.)” 

^‘YouVe my entire sympathy, Colonel,” said 
Major Hepburn, the Second in Command. “It’s 
my turn to ask the Resident to dinner next. I feel 
tempted to go on the sick-list to escape it.” 

“I say, sir. I’ve got a good idea,” said an Irish 
subaltern named Daly, who was seated at the bridge- 
table. “Couldn’t we pass a resolution at the next 
Mess meeting that in future no guests are ever to be 
asked to dinner? That will save us from our weekly 
penance.” 

The others laughed; but the Colonel, whose sense 
of humour was not his strong point, took the sug- 
gestion as being seriously meant. 

“No, no; we couldn’t do that,” he said in an 
alarmed tone. “The Resident would be very 
offended and might mention it to to the General 
when he comes here on his annual inspection.” 

The remark was very characteristic of Colonel 
Trevor, who was a man who dreaded responsibility 
and whose sole object in life was to reach safely 
the time when, his period of command being finished, 
he could retire on his full pension. He was always 
[42] 


THE LOVE-SONG OF HAR DYAL 


haunted by the dread that some carelessness or mis- 
take on his part or that of any of his subordinates 
might involve him in trouble with his superiors and 
prevent that happy consummation of his thirty years 
of Indian service. This fear made him merciless to 
anyone under him whose conduct might bring the 
censure of the higher authorities on the innocent 
head of the Commanding Officer who was in theory 
responsible for the behaviour of his juniors. It was 
commonly said in the regiment that he would cheer- 
fully give up his own brother to be hanged to save 
himself the mildest official reprimand. Perhaps he 
was not altogether to blame; for he was not his own 
master in private life. It was hinted that Colonel 
Trevor commanded the battalion but that Mrs. 
Trevor commanded him. And unfortunately there 
was no doubt that this lady interfered privately a 
good deal in regimental matters, much to the an- 
noyance of the other officers. 

Now, relieved of the incubus that had hitherta 
spoiled his enjoyment of the evening, the Colonel 
gratefully drank the whiskey and soda brought him 
by Ross’s order and sat down cheerfully to play 
bridge. He always liked dining in the Mess, where 
he was a far more important person than he was in 
his own house. 

It did not take Wargrave long to settle down again 
into the routine of regimental life and the hum- 
drum existence of a small Indian station. But he 

[43] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

Lad never before been quartered in so remote and 
dull a spot as Rohar. The only distractions it offered 
besides the shooting and pigsticking were two tennis 
afternoons weekly, one at the Residency, the other 
at the Mess. Here the dozen or so Europeans, who 
knew every line of each other^s faces by heart 
gathered regularly from sheer boredom whether the 
game amused them or not. Neither Mrs. Trevor nor 
her bosom-friend Mrs. Baird, the regimental 
surgeon’s better half, ever attempted it; but they 
invariably attended and sat together, usually talk- 
ing scandal of Mrs. Norton as she played or chatted 
with the men. Mrs. Trevor’s chief grievance against 
her was that the General Commanding the Division, 
when he came to inspect the battalion, took the 
younger woman in to dinner, for, as her husband 
the Resident was the Viceroy’s representative, she 
could claim precedence over the wife of a mere 
regimental commandant. No English village is so 
full of petty squabbles and malicious gossip as a 
small Indian station. 

Like everyone else in the land Wargrave hated 
most those terrible hours of the hot weather be- 
tween nine in the morning and five in the afternoon. 
He and Raymond passed them, like so many 
thousands of their kind elsewhere, shut up in their 
comfortless bungalow, which was darkened and 
closely shuttered to exclude the awful heat and the 
blinding glare outside. Too hot to read or write, 

[44] 


THE LOVE-SONG OF HAR DYAL 

almost to smoke, they lay in long cane chairs, gasp- 
ing and perspiring freely, while the whining punkah 
overhead barely stirred the heated air. One exterior 
window on the windward side of the bungalow was 
filled with a thick mat of dried and odorous kuskus 
grass, against which every quarter of an hour the 
hheestie threw water to wet it thoroughly so that the 
hot breeze that swept over the burning sand outside 
might enter cooled by the evaporation of the 
water. 

But Frank found alleviation and comfort in fre- 
quent visits to the Residency, where Mrs. Norton 
and he spent the baking hours of the afternoon 
absorbed in making music or singing duets. For 
Violet had a well-trained voice which harmonised 
well with his. No thought of sex seemed to obtrude 
itself on them. They were just pla5miates, comrades, 
nothing more. 

Yet it was only natural that the woman's vanity 
should be flattered by the man's eagerness to seek 
her society and by his evident pleasure in it. And 
it was delightful to have at last a sympathetic 
listener to all her little grievances, one who seemed 
as interested in her petty household worries or 
the delinquencies of her London milliner in failing 
to execute her orders properly as in her greater com- 
plaint against the fate that condemned a woman of 
her artistic and gaiety-loving nature to existence in 
the wilds and to the society of persons so uncon- 

[45] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

genial to her as were the majority of the white folk 
of Rohar. 

To a man the role of confidant to a pretty woman 
is pleasant and flattering; and Wargrave felt that 
he was highly favoured by being made the recipient 
of her confidences. It never occurred to him that 
there might be danger in the situation. He regarded 
her only as a friend in need of sympathy and help. 
His chivalry was up in arms at the thought that she 
was not properly appreciated by her husband, who, 
he began to suspect, was inclined to neglect her 
and treat her as a mere chattel. The suspicion 
angered him. True, Violet had never definitely told 
him so; but he gathered as much from her un- 
conscious admissions and revered her all the more 
for her bravery in endeavouring to keep silent on 
the subject. 

Certainly Major Norton did not seem to him to 
be a man capable of understanding and valuing so 
sweet and rare a woman as this. After their in- 
troduction in the Mess Frank’s next meeting with 
him was at his own table at the Residency, when in 
due course Wargrave was invited to dinner after his 
duty call. Raymond was asked as well; and the 
two subalterns were the only guests. 

Their hostess looked very lovely in a Paris- 
made gown of a green shade that suited her colouring 
admirably. England did not seem to the young 
soldiers so very far away when this charming and 
[46] 


THE LOVE-SONG OF HAR DYAL 


exquisitely-dressed woman received them in her 
large drawing-room from which all trace of the East 
in furniture and decoration was carefully excluded. 
For the English in India try to avoid in their homes 
all that would remind them of the Land of Exile in 
which their lot is cast. 

Major Norton came into the room after his guests, 
muttering an unintelligible apology. He shook 
hands with them with an abstracted air and failed 
to recall Wargrave’s name. At table he asked Frank 
a few perfunctory questions and then wandered off 
into his inevitable subject, entomology, but finding 
him ignorant of and uninterested in it he engaged 
in a desultory conversation with Raymond. He 
soon tired of this and for the most part ate his 
dinner in silence. He never addressed his wife; and 
Wargrave, watching them, pitied her if her husband 
was as little companionable at meal-times when they 
were alone. He pictured her sitting at table every 
day with this abstracted and uncommunicative man, 
whose thoughts seemed far from his present com- 
pany and surroundings and who was scarcely likely 
to exert himself to talk to and entertain his wife 
when he made so little effort to do so to his guests. 

Determined that on this occasion at least his 
hostess should be amused Frank did his best to en- 
liven the meal. He described to her as well as he 
could all that he remembered of the latest fashions 
in England, told her the plots of the newest plays 

[47] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

at the London theatres, repeated a few laughable 
stories to make her smile and provoked Raymond, 
who had a dry humour of his own, to a contest of 
wit. Between them the two subalterns brightened 
up what had threatened to be a dull evening. Mrs. 
Norton laughed gaily and helped to keep the ball 
rolling; and even the host in his turn woke up and 
actually attempted to tell a humorous story. It 
certainly lacked point; but he seemed satisfied that 
it was funny, so his guests smiled as in duty bound. 
But Wargrave noted Mrs. Norton’s look of astonish- 
ment at this new departure on the part of her hus- 
band and thought that there was something very 
pathetic in her surprise. When the meal was ended 
she laughingly declined to leave the men over 
their wine and stayed to smoke a cigarette with 
them. 

When they all quitted the dining-room the 
Resident asked his guests to excuse him for return- 
ing to his study, pleading urgent and important 
work; and his wife led the subalterns up to the 
drawing-room and out on to the verandah 
that ran alongside its French windows. Here 
easy chairs and a table with a big lamp had been 
placed for them. As soon as they were seated one 
of the stately chuprassis brought coffee, while an- 
other proffered cigars and cigarettes and held a light 
from a silver spirit-lamp. Then both the solemn 
servitors departed noiselessly on bare feet. 

[48] 


THE LOVE-SONG OF HAR DYAL 

After some conversation Mrs. Norton said ta the 
adjutant: 

^‘Do you remember, Mr. Raymond, that you have 
promised to take me out shooting one day?” 

“I haven’t forgotten,” he replied; “but I was not 
able to arrange it, as the Maharajah had pigsticking 
meets fixed up for all our free days. But I don’t 
think we’ll have another for some time; for I hear 
that His Highness is laid up from the effects of his 
fall. So we might go out some day soon.” 

“Good. When shall we go?” asked Wargrave. 
“Let’s fix it up now.” 

“What about next Thursday?” said his friend, 
turning to Mrs. Norton. 

“Yes; that will suit me. Where shall we go?” 

“There are a lot of partridge and a few hares, I’m 
told, near the tank at Marwa, where there is a good 
deal of cultivation,” answered Raymond. Then 
turning to his friend he continued: 

“You are not very keen on small game shooting, 
Frank; so you can bring your rifle and try for 
chinkara. I saw a buck and a couple of doe there 
not very long ago. A little venison would be very 
acceptable in Mess.” 

“The tank is about eight miles away, isn’t it?” 
said the hostess. “I’ll write to the Maharajah and 
ask him to lend us camels to take us out. My cook 
will put up a good cold lunch for us.” 

She rose from her chair and continued: 

[49] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

“Now, Mr. Wargrave, come and sing something. 
IVe been trying over those new songs of yours to- 
day.” 

She led the way into the drawing-room and 
Raymond was left alone on the verandah to smoke 
and listen for the rest of the evening, while the 
others forgot him as they played and sang. 

Suddenly he sat up in his chair and with a queer 
little pang of jealousy in his heart stared through 
the open window at the couple at the piano. He 
watched his friend’s face turned eagerly towards his 
hostess. Wargrave was gazing intently at her as 
in a voice full of feeling and pathos, a voice with a 
plaintive little tone in it that thrilled him strangely, 
she sang that haunting melody “The Love Song of 
Har Dyal.” Wistfully, sadly, she uttered the sor- 
rowful words that Kipling puts into the mouth of the 
lovelorn Pathan maiden: 

“My father^s wife is old and harsh with years, 

And drudge of all my father's house am I. 

My bread is sorrow and my drink is tears, 

Come back to me, Beloved, or I die! 

Come back to me, Beloved, or I die!” 

And the singer looked up into the eager eyes bent 
on her and sighed a little as she struck the final 
chords. Out on the verandah Raymond frowned as 
he watched them and wondered if this woman was 
to come between them and take his friend from 
him. Just then the barefooted servants entered the 
[50] 


THE LOVE-SONG OF HAR DYAL 


room, carrying silver trays on which stood the 
whiskies and sodas that are the stirrup-cups, the 
hints to guests that the time of departure has come, 
of dinner-parties in India. 

As the two subalterns drove home in Raymond's 
trap through the hot Indian night under a moon 
shining with a brilliance that England never knows, 
Wargrave hummed “The Love Song of Har Dyal.” 

Suddenly he said: 

“She’s wonderful, Ray, isn’t she? Fancy such a 
glorious woman buried in this hole and married to 
a dry old stick like the Resident! Doesn’t it seem 
a shame?” 

The adjutant mumbled an incoherent reply be- 
hind his lighted cheroot. 

Arrived in their bungalow they undressed in their 
rooms and in pyjamas and slippers came out into 
the compound, where on either side of a table on 
which was a lighted lamp stood their bedsteads, 
the mattress of each covered with a thin strip of soft 
China matting. For in the hot weather in many 
parts of India this must be used to lie upon instead 
of a linen sheet, which would become saturated with 
perspiration. Looking carefully at the ground over 
which they passed for fear of snakes they reached 
and lay down on their beds, over each of which a 
punkah was suspended from a cross-beam supported 
by two upright posts sunk in the ground. One rope 
moved both punkahs, and the motive power was 

[51] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

supplied by a coolie who, salaaming to the sahibs 
and seating himself on the ground, picked up the 
end of the rope and began to pull. Raymond put 
out the lamp. 

Wargrave stared up at the moon for a while. 
Then he said: 

say, Ray; didn’t Mrs. Norton look lovely to- 
night? Didn’t that dress suit her awfully well?” 

‘‘Oh, go to sleep, old man. We’ve got to get up in 
a few hours for this confoundedly early parade. 
Goodnight,” growled the adjutant, turning on his 
side and closing his eyes. 

But he listened for some time to his friend 
humming “The Love Song of Har Dyal” again I 
and not until Frank was silent did he doze off. An 
hour later he woke up suddenly, bathed in 
perspiration and devoured by mosquitoes; for the 
punkahs were still — the coolie had gone to sleep. 
He called to the man and aroused him, then before 
shutting his eyes again he looked at his companion. 
The moon shone full on Wargrave’s face. He was 
sleeping peacefully and smiling. Raymond stared 
at him for a few minutes. Then he muttered in- 
consequently: 

“Confound the woman!” 

And closing his eyes resolutely he fell asleep. 

In the days that elapsed before the shoot at 
Marwa, Wargrave rode every afternoon to the Resi- 
dency with the syce carrying his violin case, except 

[52] 


THE LOVE-SONG OF HAR DYAL 


when tennis was to be played. In their small 
community this could not escape notice and comment 
— not that it occurred to him to try to avoid either. 
The Resident did not object to the frequency of his 
visits; and Frank saw no harm in his friendship 
with Mrs. Norton. But others did; and the remarks 
of the two ladies of his regiment on the subject 
were venomously spiteful. But their censure was 
reserved for the one they termed ^‘that shameless 
woman”; for like everyone else they were partial 
to Wargrave and held him, less to blame. 

His brother officers, although being men they 
were not so quick to nose out a scandal, could not 
help noticing his absorption in Mrs. Norton^s 
society. One afternoon his Double Company Com- 
mander, Major Hepburn, walked into the compound 
of Raymond's bungalow and on the verandah 
shouted the usual Anglo-Indian caller’s demand: 

“Boy! Koi hat?** (Is anyone there?) 

A servant hurried out and salaaming answered: 

^^Adjitan Sahib hat.** (The adjutant is here). 

‘^Oh, come in. Major,” cried Raymond, rising 
from the table at which he was seated drinking his 
tea. 

‘‘Don’t get up,” said Hepburn, entering the room. 
“Is Wargrave in?” 

“No, sir; he went out half an hour ago.” 

“Confound it, it seems impossible ever to find 
him in the afternoon nowadays,” said the major 

[53] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

petulantly. wanted him to get up a hockey 
match against No. 3 Double Company to-day. He 
used to be very keen on playing with the men; but 
since he came back from England he never goes 
near them. Where is he? Poodlefaking at the 
Residency, as usual 

This is the term contemptuously applied in India 
to the paying of calls and other social duties that 
imply dancing attendance on the fair sex. 

‘T didn’t see him before he went out, sir,” was 
Raymond’s equivocal reply. He loyally evaded a 
direct answer. 

Hepburn shook his head doubtfully. 

“I’m sorry about it. I hope the boy doesn’t get 
into mischief. Look here, Raymond, you’re his 
pal. Keep your eye on him. He’s a good lad; and 
it would be a pity if he came to grief.” 

The adjutant did not answer. The major put on 
his hat. 

“Well, I suppose I’ll have to see to the hockey 
myself.” 

He left the bungalow with a curt nod to Raymond, 
who watched him pass out through the compound 
gate. Then the adjutant walked over to Wargrave’s 
writing-table and stood up again in its place a large 
photograph of Mrs. Norton which he had hurriedly 
laid face downwards when he heard Hepburn’s voice 
outside. He looked at it for a minute, then turned 
away frowning. 


[ 54 ] 


THE LOVE-SONG OF HAR DYAL 

When the morning of the shooting party arrived 
Wargrave and Raymond, having sent their syces 
on ahead with their guns, rode at dawn to the 
Residency. In front of the building a group of 
camels lay on the ground, burbling, blowing bubbles, 
grumbling incessantly and stretching out their long 
necks to snap viciously at anyone but their drivers 
that chanced to come near them. At the hall-door 
Mrs. Norton stood, dressed in a smart and attractive 
costume of khaki drill, consisting of a well-cut long 
frock coat and breeches, with the neatest of cloth 
gaiters and dainty but serviceable boots. To their 
surprise her husband was with her and evidently 
prepared to accompany them. For he wore an old 
coat, knickerbockers and putties, from a strap over 
his shoulder hung a specimen box, and he was armed 
with all the requisite appliances for the capture and 
slaughter of many insects. 

Avoiding the camels’ vicious teeth the party 
mounted after exchanging greetings. Mrs. Norton 
and Wargrave rode the same animal; and Frank, 
unused to this form of locomotion, took a tight grip 
as the long-legged beast rose from the ground in 
unexpected jerks and set off at a jolting walk that 
shook its riders painfully. Then it broke into a 
trot equally disconcerting but finally settled into 
an easy canter that was as comfortable a motion 
as its previous paces had been spine-dislocating. 
The route lay at first over a space of desert which 

[55] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

was unpleasant, for the sand was blown in clouds 
by a high wind, almost a gale. But the camels 
were fast movers and it did not take very long before 
they were passing through scrub jungle and finally 
reached the wide stretch of cultivation near Marwa. 

The tank, as lakes are called in India, lay in the 
centre of a shallow depression, the rim of which all 
round was about four hundred yards from the water 
which, now half a mile across, evidently filled the 
whole basin in the rainy season. The strong breeze 
churned its surface into little waves and piled up 
masses of froth and foam against the bending reeds 
at one end of the tank, where, about fifty yards 
from the water^s edge stood a couple of thorny trees, 
offering almost the only shade to be found for a 
long distance around. In the shallows were many 
yellow egrets, while a sarus crane stalked solemnly 
along the far bank, and everywhere bird-life, rare 
elsewhere in the State, abounded. The land all 
about was green, a refreshing change from the usual 
sandy and parched character of most of the country. 

But beyond the tank the fields stretched away 
out of sight. At the edge of the cultivation the 
camels were halted and the party dismounted from 
them and separated. Mrs. Norton, who was a 
fair shot and carried a light 12 -bore gim, started 
to walk up the partridges with Raymond, while her 
husband went to search the reeds and the borders 
of the lake for strange insects. Wargrave armed 

[56] 


THE LOVE-SONG OF HAR DYAL 


with a sporting Mannlicher rifle, set off on a long 
tramp to look for chinkara, which are pretty little 
antelope with curving horns. The wind, which was 
freshening, prevented the heat from being excessive. 

The sport was fairly good. When lunch-time 
came the adjutant and Mrs. Norton had got quite 
a respectable bag of partridges and a few hares. 
The entomologist was in high spirits, for he had 
secured two rare specimens; and Wargrave had 
shot a good buck. So in a contented frame of mind 
all gathered imder the trees near the end of the 
tank, where lunch was laid by a couple of the 
Residency servants on a white cloth spread on the 
ground. As they ate their tiffin (lunch) the mem- 
bers of the party chatted over the incidents of the 
morning; and each related the story of his or her 
sport. 

After the meal Mrs. Norton decided to rest; for 
the ride and the long walk with her gun had tired 
her. The servants spread a rug for her under the 
trees and placed a camel saddle for her to recline 
against. Then carrying away the empty dishes, 
plates, glasses and cutlery they retired out of sight. 

“Are you sure you don’t mind being left alone, 
Mrs. Norton?” asked Wargrave. 

“Not in the least. Do go and shoot again,” she 
replied, smiling up at him. “I’m very comfortable 
and I’m glad to have a good rest before undertaking 
that tiresome ride back. It’s very pleasant here. 

[57] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

The wind comes so cool and fresh off the water. 
Isn’t it strong, though?” 

The breeze had freshened to a gale and under 
the trees the temperature was quite bearable. The 
Resident had already gone out of sight over the 
rim of the basin, having exhausted the neighbour- 
hood of the tank and being desirous of searching 
farther afield. Wargrave and Raymond now fol- 
lowed him but soon separated, the latter making 
for the cultivation again, while his friend set off 
for the open plain. Ordinarily the heat would have 
been intense, for the hours after noon up to three 
o’clock or later are the hottest of the day in India;; 
but the gale made it quite cool. 

To Wargrave, tramping about unsuccessfully this 
time, came frequently the sound of Raymond’s gun. 

‘‘Ray seems to be having all the luck,” he 
thought, as through his field-glasses he scanned the 
plain without seeing anything. “I’m getting fed 
up.” 

At last in despair he shouldered his rifle and 
turned back. After a long walk he came in sight of 
the adjutant standing near the edge of the fields 
talking to Norton. When Frank reached them he 
found that his friend had increased his bag very 
considerably. 

“Well done, old boy, you’d better luck than I 
had,” he said. Then turning to the Resident he 
continued: “How have you done, sir?” 

[58] 


THE LOVE-SONG OF HAR DYAL 


“Nothing of any value,” replied Norton “Have 
you finished? We’re thinking of going back now.” 

“Yes, sir; I’m through. By Jove, I’m thirsty. I 
could do with a drink, couldn’t you, Ray?” 

“Rather. My throat’s like a lime-kiln. We’ll 
join Mrs. Norton and then have an iced drink while 
the camels are being saddled.” 

They strolled towards the lake, which was hidden 
from their view by the rim of the basin. As they 
reached the slight ridge that this made three 
stopped dead and gazed in amazement. 

“What’s happened to the tank?” exclaimed 
Raymond. “The water’s almost up to the trees.” 

“Good God; My wife! Look! Look!” cried the 
Resident. 

They stood appalled. The wide body of water 
had swept up to within a few yards of the trees under 
which Mrs. Norton lay fast asleep. And stealthily 
emerging from it a large crocodile was slowly, 
cautiously, crawling towards the unconscious woman. 


[59] 


CHAPTER IV 


A CROCODILE INTERVENES 

Major Norton opened his mouth to cry a warn- 
ing; but Wargrave grasped his arm and said 
hurriedly: 

‘^Don’t shout, sir I Don^t wake herl She’d be too 
confused to move.” 

Then he thrust his field-glasses into the ad- 
jutant’s hand. 

“Watch for the strike of my bullet, Ray,” he 
said. 

He threw himself at full length on the ground and 
pressed a cartridge into the breech of his rifle. His 
companions stood over him as he cast a hurried 
glance forward and adjusted his sight, muttering: 

“Just about four himdred yards ” 

The crocodile was nearly broadside on to him; 
and even at that distance he could see the scaly 
armour covering head, back and sides, that would 
defy any bullet. The unprotected spot behind the 
shoulder was hidden from him; the only vulnerable 
part was the neck. Wargrave laid his cheek to the 
butt and sighted on this. 

The crocodile crept on inch by inch, dragging its 
limbs forward with the slow, stealthy movement of 
[6o] 


A CROCODILE INTERVENES 

its kind when stalking their prey on land. The 
horrified watchers saw that the terrible snout with 
its protruding fangs was barely a yard from Mrs. 
Norton’s feet. Ra 5 nnond’s hands holding the glasses 
to his eyes trembled violently. The Resident shook 
as with the palsy; and he stared in horror at the 
crawling death that threatened the sleeping woman. 

Wargrave fired. 

As the rifle rang out the creeping movement ceased. 

“You’ve hit him, I’ll swear,” cried Raymond. “I 
didn’t see the bullet strike the ground.” 

Wargrave rapidly worked the bolt of his rifle, 
jerking out the empty case and pushing a fresh 
cartridge into the chamber. He fired again. 

“That’s got him! That must have got lum!” ex- 
claimed Raymond. 

The crocodile lay still. Frank leapt to his feet 
and, rifle in hand, dashed down the incline. At 
that moment Mrs. Norton awoke, turned on her side, 
raised her body a little and suddenly saw the 
horrible reptile. She sat up rigid with terror and 
stared at it. The brute slowly opened its huge 
mouth and disclosed the cruel, gapped teeth. Then 
the iron jaws clashed together. With a shriek the 
woman sprang to her feet, but stood trembling, 
unable to move away. 

“Run ! Run 1 ” shouted Wargrave, springing down 
the slope towards her. 

Behind him raced Raymond, while her husband, 

[6i] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

who was unable to run fast, followed far behind. 

Mrs. Norton seemed rooted to the spot. But 
she turned to Wargrave with outstretched arms and 
gasped: 

“Save me, Frank! Save me!” 

With a bound he reached her, and, as she clung 
to him convulsively, panted out: 

“It’s all right, dear. You’re safe now.” 

He pushed her behind him, and bringing the 
rifle to his shoulder, faced the crocodile. The 
brute opened and shut its great jaws, seeming 
to gasp for air, while a strange whistling sound 
came from its throat. Its body appeared to be 
paralysed. 

“It can’t move. You’ve broken its spine,” cried 
Raymond, as he reached them. “Your first shot it 
must have been. Look! Your second’s torn its 
throat.” 

He pointed to the neck and went round to the 
other side. From a jagged, gaping wound where the 
expanding bullet had torn the throat, the blood 
spurted and air whistled out with a shrill sound. 

Wargrave turned to Violet and took the terrified 
woman, who seemed on the point of fainting, in his 
arms. 

“All right, little girl. It’s all right. The brute’s 
done for.” 

She pulled herself together with an effort and 
looked nervously at the crocodile. Then she re- 
[62] 


A CROCODILE INTERVENES 

leased herself from Frank^s clasp and said, smiling 
feebly: 

^‘What a coward I am! I’m ashamed of myself. 
Where’s John? Oh, here he is. Doesn’t he look 
funny?” 

The Resident, very red-faced and out of breath, 
had slowed down into a shambling walk and was 
puffing and blowing like a grampus. As he came up 
to them he spluttered: 

“Is it safe? Is it dead?” 

“It’s harmless now, sir,” answered Raymond. 
“It’s still living but it can’t move. The spine’s 
broken, I think.” 

The Resident turned to his wife. The poor man 
had been in agony while she was in danger; but 
now that the peril had passed he could only express 
his relief in irritable scolding: 

“How could you be so foolish, Violet?” he asked 
crossly. “The idea of going to sleep near the tank! 
Most unwise! You might have been eaten alive.” 

His wife smiled bitterly and glanced at the 
grumbling man with a contemptuous expression on 
her face. 

“Yes, John, very inconsiderate of me, I daresay. 
But how was I to know that there was a mugger 
(crocodile) in the tank?” 

Then for the first time she realised the nearness 
of the water. 

“Good gracious! I thought I was much farther. 

[63] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

— ^how did I get so close to it? Did I slip down in 
my sleep 

“No; there are the trees/’ said Raymond. “It’s 
extraordinary. The whole tank seems to have 
shifted.” 

The Resident was mopping his bald scalp and 
lifted his hat to let the gusty wind cool his head. A 
sudden squall blew the big pith sun-helmet out of 
his hand. Wargrave caught it in the air and re- 
turned it to its owner. 

“By Jove! it’s a regular gale,” he said. “I think 
I know what’s happened. This wind’s so strong 
that it’s blown the water of the tank before it and 
actually shifted the whole mass thirty or forty yards 
this way.” 

“Yes, I’ve known that to occur before with shallow 
ponds,” said Raymond. “I’ve heard the passage of 
the Red Sea by the Israelites and the drowning of 
Pharaoh’s Army explained in the same way. It’s 
said that the crossing really took place at one ex- 
tremity of the Bitter Lake through which the Suez 
Canal passes.” 

Major Norton was staring at the far end of the 
tank now left bare. 

“There may be some interesting insects stranded 
on the bottom uncovered by the receding water,” he 
said, abstractedly, and was moving away to search 
for them when Wargrave said disgustedly: 

“Don’t you think, sir, that, as Mrs. Norton has 

[64] 


A CROCODILE INTERVENES 


had such a shock, the sooner we get off the better?’^ 

‘‘Yes, yes. Very true. But you can order the 
camels to be saddled while I^m having a look,^^ re- 
plied the enthusiastic collector. “I really must go 
and see. There may be some very interesting 
specimens there.” 

And he hurried away. His wife smiled rather 
bitterly as he went. Then she turned to the two 
subalterns. 

“But tell me what happened? How did the 
mugger come here? How was I saved?” 

Raymond rapidly narrated what had taken place. 
Violet looked at Wargrave with glistening eyes and 
held out her hands to him. 

“So you saved my life. How can I thank you?” 
she said gratefully. Her lips trembled a little. 

Frank took her hands in his but answered lightly: 

“Oh, it was nothing. Anyone else would have 
done the same. I happened to be the only one with 
a rifle.” 

Raymond turned away quickly and walked over 
to the crocodile. Neither of them took any notice of 
him. Violet gazed fondly at Wargrave. 

“I owe you so much, Frank, so very much,” she 
murmured in a low voice. “YouVe made my life 
worth living; and now you make me live.” 

He was embarrassed but he pressed the hands he 
held in his. Then he released them and tried to 
speak lightly. 


[6S] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

“Shall I have the mugger skinned and get a 
dressing-bag made out of his hide for you?” he said, 
smiling. “That’d be a nice souvenir of the brute.” 

She shuddered. 

“I don’t want to remember him,” she cried, turn- 
ing to glance at the crocodile. “Horrid beast! I 
can’t bear the sight of him.” 

The mugger certainly looked a most repulsive 
brute as it lay stretched on the ground, its jaws 
occasionally opening and shutting spasmodically, 
the blood from its wounded throat spreading in al 
pool on the sun-baked earth. It was evidently an 
old beast; and skull and back were covered with 
thick horny plates and bosses through which no 
bullet could penetrate. The big teeth studded 
irregularly in the cruel jaws were yellow and worn, 
as were the thick nails tipping the claws at the ends 
of the powerful limbs. 

“The devil’s not dead yet. Shall I put another 
bullet into him?” said Wargrave. 

“It’s only wasting a cartridge,” replied his friend. 
“He can’t do any more harm. When the men come 
we’ll have him cut open and see what he’s got inside 
him.” 

Violet shuddered. 

“Oh, do you think he has ever eaten any human 
being?” she asked, gazing with loathing at the huge 
reptile. 

“Judging from the way he stalked you I should 

[ 66 ] 


A CROCODILE INTERVENES 

think he has/^ answered Raymond. ‘‘Hullo! here 
comes one of the camel-drivers with some of the 
villagers. They'll be able to tell us about him." 

On the rim of the basin appeared a group of 
natives moving in their direction. Suddenly they 
caught sight of the crocodile, stopped and pointed 
to it and began to talk excitedly. One of the local 
peasants ran back shouting. The rest hurried down 
for a closer view of the reptile. A chorus of wonder 
rose from them as they stood round it. The 
Mahommedan camel-driver exclaimed in Hindustani: 

*^Ahri, bhai! Kiya janwar! Pukka shaitan! 
(Ah, brother! What an animal! A veritable 
devil!)" 

As the villagers spoke only the dialect of the State, 
Raymond used this man as interpreter and ques- 
tioned them about the crocodile. They asserted that 
it had inhabited the tank for many years — ^hundreds, 
said one man. It had, to their certain knowledge, 
killed several women incautiously bathing or draw- 
ing water from the tank. As women are not valued 
highly by the poorer Hindus this did not make 
the mugger very unpopular. But early in that very 
year it had committed the awful crime of dragging 
under water and devouring a Brahmini bull, an 
animal devoted to the Gods and held sacrosanct. 

By this time the crocodile had breathed its last. 
Raymond measured it roughly and found it to be 
over twelve feet in length. The peasants turned the 

[67] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

great body on its back. Wargrave saw that the skin 
underneath was too thick to be made into leather, 
so he bade them cut the belly open. The stomach 
contained many shells of freshwater crabs and cray- 
fish, as well as a surprising amount of large pebbles, 
either taken for digestive purposes or swallowed 
when the fish were being scooped up off the bottom. 
But further search resulted in the finding of several 
heavy brass or copper anklets and armlets, such as 
are worn by Indian women. Some had evidently 
been a long time in the reptile’s interior. 

When the camels had come and the party was pre- 
paring to mount and start back home a crowd of 
villagers, led by their old priest, bore down upon 
them. Learning that Frank was the slayer of the 
sacrilegious crocodile the holy man hung a garland 
of marigolds round his neck and through the in- 
terpreter offered him the thanks of gods and men 
for his good deed. And to a chorus of blessings and 
compliments he rode away with his companions. 

So ended the incident — apparently. But con- 
sequences undreamed of by any of the actors in it 
flowed from it. For imperceptibly it brought a 
change into the relations between Mrs. Norton and 
Wargrave and eventually altered them completely. 
At first it merely seemed to strengthen their friend- 
ship and increase the feeling of intimacy. To Violet 
— they were Violet and Frank to each other now — 
the saving of her life constituted a bond that could 
[ 68 ] 


A CROCODILE INTERVENES 


never be severed. He had preserved her from a 
horrible death and she owed Wargrave more than 
gratitude. 

Hitherto she had often toyed with the idea of him 
as a lover; and the thought had been a pleasant one. 
But it had hardly occurred to her to be in love with 
him in return. In all her life up to now she had 
never known what it was to really love. She had 
married without affection. Her girlhood had been 
passed without the mildest flirtation; for she had 
been brought up in a quiet country village, where 
there never seemed to be any bachelors of her own 
class between the ages of seventeen and fifty. Even 
the curate was grey-haired and married. She had 
made up for this deprivation during the voyage out 
to India and her season in Calcutta; but, although 
she had found many men ready to flirt with her, 
Norton’s proposal was the only serious one that she 
had had and she accepted him in desperation. She 
had never felt any love for him. She did not realise 
that he had any for her; for, although he really 
entertained a sincere affection of a kind for her, it 
was so seldom and so badly expressed that she was 
never aware of its existence. Since her marriage she 
had had several careless flirtations during her visits 
to her relatives in Calcutta; but her heart was not 
seriously affected. 

She never acknowledged to herself that any 
gratitude or loyalty was due from her to her hus- 

[69] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

band. On the contrary she felt that she owed him, 
as well as Fate, a grudge. She was young, warm- 
blooded, of a passionate temperament, yet she found 
herself wedded to a man who apparently needed a 
housekeeper, not a wife. Her husband did not 
appear to realise that a woman is not essentially 
different to a man, that she has feelings, desires, 
passions, just as he has — ^although by a polite fiction 
the prudish Anglo-Saxon races seem to agree to 
regard her as of a more spiritual, more ethereal and 
less earthly a nature. Yet it is only a fiction after 
all. Violet was a living woman, a creature of flesh 
and blood who was not content to be a chattel, al 
household ornament, a piece of furniture. It was 
not to be wondered at that she longed to enter into 
woman’s kingdom, to exercise the power of her 
sex to sway the other and to experience the thrill of 
the realisation of that power. Often in her loneliness 
she pined to see eyes she loved look with love into 
hers. She was not a marble statue. It was but 
natural that she should long for Love, a lover, the 
clasp of strong arms, the pressure of a man’s broad 
chest against her bosom, the feel of burning kisses 
on her lips, the glorious surrender of her whole being 
to some adored one to whom she was the universe, 
who lived but for her. 

Now for the first time in her life her errant dreams 
took concrete shape. At last she began to feel the 
companionship of a particular man necessary for 
[70] 


A CROCODILE INTERVENES 


her happiness. She had never before realised the 
pleasure, the joy, to be derived from the presence 
of one of the opposite sex who was in sympathy, 
in perfect harmony with her nature. 

In her lonely hours — and they were many — she 
thought constantly of Wargrave; his face was ever 
before her, his voice sounding in her ears. She 
usually saw her husband — ^absorbed in his work and 
studies — only at meals; and as she looked across the 
table at him then she could not help contrasting the 
heavy, unattractive man sitting silent, usually read- 
ing a book while he ate, with the good-looking, 
laughter-loving playfellow who had come into her 
life. She learned to day-dream of Wargrave, to 
watch for his coming and hate his going, to enjoy 
every moment of his presence. He had brought a new 
interest into her hitherto purposeless life, the life 
that he had preserved and that consequently seemed 
to belong to him. New feelings awakened in her. 
The world was a brighter, happier place than it 
had been. It pleased her to realise what it all meant, 
to know that the novel sensations, the fluttering 
hopes and fears, the strange, delightful thrills, were 
all symptoms of that longed-for malady that comes 
sooner or later to all women. She knew at last that 
she loved Wargrave and gloried in the knowledge. 
And she never doubted that he loved her in return. 

Did he? It was hard to tell. To a man the 
thought of Love in the abstract seldom occurs; and 

[71] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

the realisation of the concrete fact that he is in love 
with some particular woman generally comes some- 
what as a shock. He is by nature a lover of freedom 
and in theory at least resents fetters, even silken 
ones. And Wargrave had never thought of analysing 
his feelings towards Violet. He was not a pro- 
fessional amorist and, although not a puritan, would 
never set himself deliberately to make love to a 
married woman under her husband’s roof. He was 
fond of Mrs. Norton — ^as a sister, he thought. She 
was a delightful friend, a real pal, so imderstanding, 
so companionable, he said to himself frequently. It 
had not occurred to him that his feelings for her 
might be love. He had often before been on terms 
of friendship with women, married and single; but 
none of them had ever attracted him as much as she 
did. He had never felt any desire to be married; 
domesticity did not appeal to him. But now, as he 
watched Violet moving about her drawing-room or 
playing to him, he found himself thinking that it 
would be pleasant to return to his bungalow from 
parade and find a pretty little wife waiting to greet 
him with a smile and a kiss — and the wife of his 
dreams always had Violet’s face, wore smart well- 
cut frocks like Violet’s, and showed just such 
shapely, silken-clad legs and ankles and such small 
feet in dainty, silver-buckled, high-heeled shoes. 
And he thought with an inward groan that such a 
luxury was not for a debt-ridden subaltern like him, 

[72] 


A CROCODILE INTERVENES 

that his heavily-mortgaged pay would not run to 
expensive gowns, silk stockings and costly footwear. 

Yet it never occurred to him that Violet cared 
for him nor did it enter his mind to try to win her 
love. But he felt that he would do much to make 
her happy, that saving her life made him in a way 
responsible for it in future; and he knew that she 
was not a contented woman. His sympathy went 
out to her for what he guessed she must suffer from 
her ill-assorted union. 

But soon he had no need to surmise it; for before 
long Violet began to confide all her sorrows to him 
and the recital made his heart bleed for one so young 
and beautiful mated to a selfish wretch who was as 
blind to her suffering as he was to her charm. The 
younger man’s chivalry was up in arms, and he felt 
that such a boor did not deserve so bright a jewel. 
At times Frank was tempted to confront the callous 
husband and force him to open his dulled eyes to 
the bravely-borne misery of his neglected wife and 
realise how fortunate he ought to consider himself 
in being the owner of such a transcendent being.. 
But the next moment the infatuated youth was con- 
vinced that Norton was incapable of appreciating so 
rare; a woman, that only a nature like his own could 
understand or do full justice to the perfections of 
hers. Such is a young man’s conceit. He re- 
joiced to know that his poor sympathy could help in 
a measure to make up to Violet for the happiness 

[73] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

that she declared that she had missed in life. And 
so he gladly consented to play the consoler; and she, 
for the pleasure of being consoled, continued to pour 
out her griefs to him. 

But if Frank was unconscious of the danger of 
his post as sympathising confidant to another man^s 
young and pretty wife, others were not. Her hus- 
band, of course, was as blind as most husbands seem 
to be in Anglo-Indian society. For in that land of 
the Household of Three, the Eternal Triangle, it is 
almost a recognised principle that every married 
woman who is at all attractive is entitled to have 
one particular bachelor always in close attendance 
on her, to be constantly at her beck and call, to ride 
with her, to drive her every afternoon to tennis or 
golf or watch polo, then on to the Club and sit with 
her there. His duty, a pleasant one, no doubt, is to 
cheer up her otherwise solitary dinner in her 
bungalow on the nights when her neglectful husband 
is dining out en garqon. No cavaLiere servente of 
Old Italy ever had so busy a time as the Tame Cat 
of the India of to-day. And the husband allows it, 
nay seems, as Major Norton did, to hail his presence 
with relief, as it eases the conscience of the selfish 
lord and master who leaves his spouse much alone. 

But if the Resident saw no harm or danger in the 
young officer constantly seeking the society of his 
pretty wife others did. At first Frank's well-wishers 
tried to hint to him that there was likelihood of his 

[74] 


A CROCODILE INTERVENES 

friendship with her being misunderstood. But he 
laughed at Raymond's badly-expressed warning and 
rather resented Major Hepburn^s kindly advice when 
on one occasion his Company Commander spoke 
plainly, though tactfuly, to him on the subject. Then 
Violet^s enemies took a hand in the game. Mrs. 
Trevor, having failed to decoy him to her bungalow 
for what she called “a quiet tea and a motherly little 
chat,” cornered him one afternoon when he was on 
his way to the Residency and spoke very openly 
to him of the risk he ran of being entangled in the 
coils of such an outrageous coquette as ‘‘that Mrs. 
Norton,” as she termed her. Frank was so indignant 
at her abuse of his friend that for the first time in 
his life he was rude to a woman and snubbed Mrs. 
Trevor so severely that she went in a rage to her 
husband and insisted on his taking immediate steps 
to arrest the progress of a scandal that, she declared, 
would attract the unfavourable attention of the 
higher military authorities to the regiment. 

“Do you realise, William, that you will be the one 
to suffer?” said the angry woman. “If an3dliing 
happens, if Major Norton complains, if that shame- 
less creature succeeds in making that foolish young 
man run away with her, you will be blamed. You 
can’t afford it. You know that the General’s con- 
fidential report on you last year was not too favour- 
able.” 

“It wasn’t really bad, my dear; it only hinted 
[75l 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

that I lacked decision/’ pleaded the hen-pecked 
man. 

“Exactly. You are not firm enough,” persisted 
his domestic t3n‘ant. “They will say that you should 
have put your foot down at once and stopped this 
disgraceful affair.” 

“But what can I do?” asked the Colonel help- 
lessly. 

“Someone ought to speak to Major Norton at 
once.” 

“Oh, my dear Jane, I couldn’t. I daren’t.” 

“For two pins I’d do it myself. Mrs. Baird said 
the other day that it was our duty as respectable 
women.” 

“No, no, no, Jane. You mustn’t think of it,” 
exclaimed the alarmed man. “I forbid you. You 
mustn’t mix yourself up in the affair. It would be 
committing me.” 

“Then send that impertinent young man away,” 
said Mrs. Trevor firmly. No General would have 
accused her of lack of decision. “I used to have 
a high opinion of him once; but after his insolence 
to me I believe him to be nearly as bad as that 
woman.” 

“Where can I send him?” asked the worried 
Colonel. “He has done all the courses and passed 
all the classes and examinations he can.” 

“You know you have only to write confidentially 
to the Staff and inform them that young Wargrave’s 
[76] 


A CROCODILE INTERVENES 


removal to another station is absolutely necessary 
to prevent a scandal; and they’ll send him off some- 
where else at once.” 

Her husband nodded his head. He was well aware 
of the fact that the Army in India looks closely 
after the behaviour and morals of its officers, that a 
colonel has only to hint that the transfer of a 
particular individual under his command is necessary 
to stop a scandal — and without loss of time that 
officer finds himself deported to the other side of the 
country. 

One morning, a week after Mrs Trevor’s con- 
versation with her husband, Wargrave, superintend- 
ing the musketry of his Double Company on the rifle 
range, was given an official note from the adjutant 
informing him that the Commanding Officer desired 
to see him at once in the Orderly Room. As Major 
Hepburn was not present Frank handed the men 
over to the senior Indian company commander and 
rode off to the Regimental Office, wondering as he 
went what could be the reason of the sudden sum- 
mons. Reaching the building he found Ra)miond 
on the watch for him, while ostensibly engaged in 
criticising to the battalion durzi (tailor) the fit of 
the new uniforms of several recruits. 

‘T say, Ray, what’s up?” asked his friend cheerily, 
as he swung himself out of the saddle. 

The adjutant nodded warningly towards the 
Orderly Room and dropped his voice ^ he replied: 

[77] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

‘T don’t know, old chap. The C. O.’s said noth- 
ing to me; but he’s in there with Hepburn trying 
to work himself up into a rage so that he can bully- 
rag you properly. You’d better go in and get it 
over.” 

Wargrave entered the big, colour-washed room. 
The Colonel was seated at his desk, frowning at a 
paper before him, and did not look up. Major Hep- 
burn was standing behind his chair and glanced 
commiseratingly at the subaltern. 

Frank stood to attention and saluted. 

‘^Good morning, sir,” he said. “You wanted to 
see me?” 

Colonel Trevor did not reply, but turning slightly 
in his chair, said: 

“Major Hepburn, call in the adjutant, please.” 

As the Second in Command went out on the 
verandah and summoned Raymond, Wargrave’s 
heart misgave him. He had no idea of what the 
matter was; but the Colonel’s manner and the 
presence of the Second in Command were ominous 
signs. He wondered what crime he was going to be 
charged with. 

“Shut the doors, Raymond,” said the Command- 
ing Officer curtly, as the adjutant entered. The 
latter did so and sat down at his writing-table, 
glancing anxiously at his friend. 

Colonel Trevor’s lips were twitching nervously; 
and he seemed to experience a difficulty in finding 
[78] 


A CROCODILE INTERVENES 

his voice. At last he took up a paper from his desk 
and said: 

‘‘Mr. Wargrave, this is a telegram just received 
from Western Army Head Quarters. It says 
‘Lieutenant Wargrave is appointed to No. 12 
Battalion, Frontier Military Police. Direct him to 
proceed forthwith to report to O. C. Detachment, 
Ranga Duar, Eastern Bengal.’ ” 


[79] 


CHAPTER V 


SENTENCE OF EXILE 

At the words of the telegram Ra 5 miond started 
and Frank stared in bewilderment at the Colonel. 

“But I never asked for the Military Police, sir,” 
he exclaimed. “I ” 

The Colonel licked his dry lips and, working him- 
self up into a passion, shouted: 

“No, you didn’t. But I did. I applied for you 
to be sent to it. I asked for you to be transferred 
from this station. You can ask yourself the reason 
why. I will not tolerate conduct such as yours, sir. 
I will not have an officer like you imder my com- 
mand.” 

Frank flushed deeply. 

“I beg your pardon, sir. I don’t understand. I 
really don’t know what I’ve done. I should ” 

But the Colonel burst in furiously: 

“He says he doesn’t know wh^t he’s done. Major 
Hepburn. Listen to that! He does not know what 
he’s done”; and the speaker pounded on the desk 
with his clenched fist, working himself up into a 
rage, as a weak man will do when he has to carry 
out an unpleasant task. 

“But, sir, surely I have a right ,” began War- 

[8o] 


SENTENCE OF EXILE 

grave, clenching his hands until the nails were al- 
most driven into his palms in an effort to keep his 
temper. 

“I cannot argue the question with you, War- 
grave,” said the Colonel loftily. “You have got 
your orders. Headquarters approve of my action. 
I have discussed the matter with my Second in Com- 
mand, and he agrees with me. You can go. Ray- 
mond, make out the necessary warrants for Mr. War- 
grave’s journey and give him an advance of at 
month’s pay. He will leave to-morrow. Tell the 
Quartermaster to make the necessary arrangements.” 

Frank bit his lip. His years of discipline and the 
respect for authority engrained in him since his 
entrance to Sandhurst kept the mutinous words 
back. He saluted punctiliously and, turning about 
smartly walked out of the Orderly Room. In the 
glaring sunshine he strode out of the compound and 
down the white, dusty road to his bungalow, his 
brain in a whirl, blind to everything, seeing neither 
the sepoys saluting him nor his syce hurrying after 
him and dragging the pony by the bridle. 

When he reached his house he entered the sitting- 
room and dropped into a chair. His “boy” ap- 
proached salaaming and asked if he should go to the 
Mess to order the Sahib’s breakfast to be got ready. 
Wargrave waved him away impatiently. 

He sat staring unseeingly at the wall. He could 
not think coherently. He felt dazed. His be- 
[8i] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

wildered brain seemed to be revolving endlessly 
round the thought of the telegram from Headquarters 
and the ColoneFs words ‘T will not have an officer 
like you under my command.” What was the mean- 
ing of it all? What had he done? A pang shot 
through him at the sudden remembrance of Colonel 
Trevor ^s assertion that Major Hepburn agreed with 
him, Frank held the Second in Command in high 
respect, for he knew him to be an exceptionally 
good soldier and a gentleman in every sense of 
the word. Had he so disgraced himself then that 
Hepburn considered the ColoneFs action justified? 
But how? 

He shifted uneasily in his chair and his eyes fell 
on Mrs. Norton’s portrait. At the sight of it his 
Company Commander’s advice to him about her and 
Mrs. Trevor’s spiteful remarks flashed across his 
mind. Could Violet be mixed up in all this? Was 
his friendship with her perhaps the cause of the 
trouble? He dismissed the idea at once. There 
was nothing to be ashamed of in their relations. 

A figure darkened the doorway. It was Raymond. 
Wargrave sprang up and rushed to him. 

“What in Heaven’s name is it all about, Ray?” 
he cried. “Is the Colonel mad?” 

The adjutant took off his helmet and flung it on 
the table. 

“Well, tell me. What the devil have I done?” 
said his friend impatiently. 

[82] 


SENTENCE OF EXILE 


Raymond tried to speak but failed 

“Go on, man. What is it?” cried Wargrave, seiz- 
ing his arm. 

The adjutant burst out: 

“It’s a damned shame, old man. I’m sorry.” 

“But what is it? What is it, I say?” cried War- 
grave, shaking him. 

The adjutant nodded his head towards the big 
photograph on the writing-table. 

“It’s Mrs. Norton,” he said. 

“Mrs. Norton?” echoed his friend. “What the — 
what’s she got to do with it?” 

Raymond threw himself into a chair. 

“Someone’s been making mischief. The C. O.’s 
been told that there might be a scandal so he’s got 
scared lest trouble should come to him.” 

Frank stared blankly at the speaker, then sud- 
denly turned and walked out of the bungalow. The 
pony was standing huddled into the patch of shade 
at the side of the house, the syce squatting on the 
ground at its head and holding the reins. War- 
grave sprang into the saddle and galloped out of the 
compound. Raymond ran to the verandah and saw 
him thundering down the sandy road that led to the 
Residency. 

Arrived at the big white building Frank pulled up 
his panting pony on its haunches and dismoimting 
threw the reins over its head and left it unattended. 

Walking to the hall door he cried: 

[83] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

**Kot hai?^^ 

A drowsy chuprassi at the back of the hall sprang 
up and hurried to receive him. 

^^Memsahib hat? (Is the mistress in?)” 

sahib. (Yes, sir)” said the servant salaam- 
ing. 

Wargrave was free of the house and, taking off 
his hat, went into the cool hall and walked up the 
great staircase. He entered the drawing-room. 
After the blinding glare outside the closely-shuttered 
apartment seemed so dark that at first it was difficult 
for him to see if it were tenanted or not. But it was 
empty; and he paced the floor impatiently, frown- 
ing in chaotic thought. 

“Good morning, Frank. You are early to-day. 
And what a bad temper you seem to be in!” ex- 
claimed a laughing voice; and Mrs. Norton, looking 
radiant and delightfully cool in a thin white Madras 
muslin dress, entered the room. 

He went to her. 

“They’re sending me away, Violet,” he said 

“Sending you away?” she repeated in an 
tonished tone. “Sending you where?” 

“To hell, I think,” he cried. “Oh, I beg your 
pardon. I mean — ^yes, they’re sending me away 
from Rohar, from you. Sending me to the other side 
of India.” 

The blood slowly left her face as she stared un- 
comprehendingly at him. 

[84] 


SENTENCE OF EXILE 

‘‘Sending you away? Why?’^ she asked. 

“Because — ^because weVe friends, little girl/^ 

“Because we^re friends,” she echoed. “What do 
you mean? But you mustn’t go.” 

“I must. I can’t help it. I’ve got to go.” 

Pale as death Violet stared at him. 

“Got to go? To leave me?” 

Then with a choking cry she threw her arms about 
his neck and sobbed. 

“You mustn’t. You mustn’t leave me. I can’t 
live without you. I love you. I love you. I’ll die 
if you go from me.” 

Frank started and tried to hold her at arm’s 
length to look into her face. But the woman clung 
frenziedly to him, while convulsive sobs shook her 
body. His arms went round her instinctively and, 
holding her to his breast, he stared blankly over the 
beautiful bowed head. It was true, then. She loved 
him. Without meaning it he had won her heart. He 
whose earnest wish it had been to save her from pain, 
to console her, to brighten her lonely life, had 
brought this fresh sorrow on her. To the misery of 
a loveless marriage he had added a heavier cross, an 
imhappy, a misplaced affection. No exultant vanity 
within him rejoiced at the knowledge that, unsought, 
she had learned to care for him. Only regret, pity 
for her, stirred in him. He was aware now as always 
that his feeling for her was not love. But she must 
not realise it. He must save her from the bitter 

[85] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

mortification of learning that she had given her 
heart unasked. His must have been the fault; he 
it must be to bear the punishment. She should 
never know the truth. He bent down and reverently, 
tenderly, kissed the tear-stained face — ^it was the 
first time that his lips had touched her. 

^‘Dearest, we will go together. You must come 
with me,’’ he said. 

Violet started and looked wildly up at him. 

‘^Go with you ? What do you mean? How can I ?” 
mean that you must come away with me to 
begin a new life — a happier one — together. I can- 
not leave you here with a man who neglects you, who 
does not appreciate you, who cannot understand 
you.” 

^‘Do you mean — run away with you?” she asked. 

‘‘Yes; it is the only thing to do.” 

•She slowly loosed her clasp of him and released 
herself from his arms. 

“But I don’t understand at all. Why are you 
going? And where?” 

He briefly told her what had happened. His face 
flushed darkly as he repeated the Colonel’s words. 

“ ‘He wouldn’t have an officer like me under his 
command,’ he said. He treated me like a criminal. 
I don’t value his opinion much. But Major Hep- 
burn agrees with him. That hurts. I respect him.” 

“But where is this place they’re sending you to?” 
she asked. 


[ 86 ] 


SENTENCE OF EXILE 


^^Ranga Duar? I don^t know. Eastern Bengal, 
I believe.” 

^‘Bengal. What? Anywhere near Calcutta?” 

‘‘No; it must be somewhere up on the frontier. 
Otherwise they wouldn’t send Military Police to 
garrison it.” 

“But what is it like? Is it a big station?” she 
persisted. 

“I can’t tell you. But it’s sure not to be. No; 
it must be a small place up in the hills or in the 
jungle. There’s only a detachment there.” 

“But what have I got to do with your being sent 
there?” she asked in perplexity. 

“Don’t you understand? Someone’s been making 
mischief,” he replied. “Those two vHe-minded 
women have been talking scandal of us to the 
Colonel.” 

“What? Talking about you and me? Ohl” she 
exclaimed. 

His words brought home to her the fact that these 
bitter-tongued women whom she depised had dared 
to assail her — her, the Burra Merriy the Great Lady 
of their little world. Had dared to? She could not 
silence them. And what would they say of her, 
how their tongues would wag, if she ran away from 
her husband ! And they would have a right to talk 
scandal of her then. The thought made her pause. 

“But how could I go with you to this place in 
Bengal? Where could I live?” she asked. 

[87] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

‘‘You’d live with me.” 

“Oh I In your bungalow? How could I? And 
how would I get there?” she continued. “I haven’t 
any money. I don’t suppose I’ve got a ten-rupee 
note. And I couldn’t ask my husband.” 

“Of course not. I would ” He paused. “By 

Jove ! I never thought of that.” It had not occurred 
to him that elopements must be carried out on a 
cash basis. He had forgotten that money was 
necessary. And he had none. He was heavily in 
debt. The local shroffs — the native money-lenders 
— ^would give him no more credit when they knew 
that he was going away. All that he would have 
would be the one month’s advance of pay — ^probably 
not enough for Violet’s fare and expenses across 
India — the Government provided his — ^and certainly 
not enough to support them for long. He frowned 
in perplexity. Running away with another man’s 
wife did not seem so easy after all. 

Violet was the first to recover her normal 
calm. 

“Sit down and let us talk quietly,” she said. “One 
of the servants may come in. Or my husband — if 
people are talking scandal of us.” 

She touched the switch of an overhead electric 
fan — the Government of India housed its Political 
Officer in Rohar much more luxuriously than the 
military ones — and sat down under it. Wargrave 
began to pace the room impatiently. 

[ 88 ] 


SENTENCE OF EXILE 

^^Come, Frank, stop walking about like a tiger 
in a cage and let^s discuss things properly.’’ 

With an effort he pulled himself together and took 
a chair near her. The woman was the more self- 
possessed of the two. The shock of suddenly find- 
ing herself up against the logical outcome of her 
desires had sobered her; and, faced with the prospect 
of an immediate flight involving the abdication of 
her assured social position and the surrender of a 
home, she was able to visualise the consequences of 
her actions. The most sobering reflection was the 
thought that by so doing she would be casting her- 
self to the female wolves of her world — and she 
knew the extent of their mercy. There were others 
of her acquaintance besides Mrs. Trevor who would 
howl loud with triumph over her downfall. The 
thought has saved many a woman from social ruin. 

Thinking only of what she had so often told him 
of the misery of living with a man as unsympathetic 
as her husband, Frank pleaded desperately with a 
conviction that he was far from feeling. The hard 
fact of the lack of sufficient money to pay for her 
travelling expenses, the difficulty of getting off to- 
gether from this out-of-the-way station, were not to 
be got over. Then the impossibility of knowing 
whether she could remain with him when he was on 
frontier duty and of supporting her away from him, 
the realisation of the fact that they would have to 
face the Divorce Court with its heavy costs and 

[89] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

probably crushing damages, all made the situation 
seem hopeless. In despair he sprang up and resumed 
his nervous pacing of the room. 

At last Violet said: 

“All I can see, dearest, is that we must wait. It 
will be harder for me than for you. You at least 
will not have to live with anyone uncongenial to 
you. But I must. Yet I can bear it for your 
sake.” 

He stopped before her and looked at her in 
admiration of her courageous and self-sacrificing 
spirit. Then he bent down and kissed her tenderly. 
Sitting beside her he discussed the situation more 
calmly than he had hitherto done. It was finally 
agreed that he was to go alone to his new station, 
save all that he could to pay off his debts — ^he would 
receive a higher salary in the Military Police and his 
expenses would be less — and when he was free and 
had made a home for her Violet would sacrifice 
everything for love and come to him. With almost 
tears in his eyes as he thought of her nobility he 
strained her to his heart. When the time came for 
parting the woman broke down completely and 
wept bitterly as she clung to him. He kissed 
her passionately, then with an effort put her from 
him and almost ran from the room, while she flung 
herself on a lounge and sobbed convulsively. 

One of the Residency syces had taken charge of 
the pony; and Wargrave, mounting it, galloped 

[90] 


SENTENCE OF EXILE 

madly back to his bungalow, his heart torn with 
anguish for the unhappiness of the broken-hearted 
woman that he was leaving behind. 

When he arrived home he found that Raymond 
and his own “boy’’ and sword-orderly (his native 
soldier-servant) had begun his packing for him, for 
his heavy baggage had to be despatched that after- 
noon. The bungalow was crowded with his brother- 
officers waiting to see him. He had intended to 
avoid them, for he felt disgraced by the Colonel’s 
censure which it was evident the Commanding 
Officer had not kept secret, though the whole matter 
should have been treated as confidential. But they 
made light of his scruples and showed him that he 
had their sympathy. He had meant to dine alone in 
his room that night; but his comrades insisted on his 
coming to the Mess, where they were to give him an 
informal farewell dinner. They would take no 
refusal. 

Daly, who was the Acting Quartermaster of the 
battalion, told him that the arrangements for his 
journey had been made. He was to leave at dawn 
and drive sixty miles in a tonga — a two-wheeled 
native conveyance drawn by a pair of ponies — to a 
village called Basedi on the shores of a narrow gulf 
or deep inlet of the sea which formed the eastern 
boundary of the State of Mandha. Here he would 
have to spend the night in a dak-bungalow— -or rest- 
house — and cross the water in a steam-launch next 

[91] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

morning. After that, five days more of travel by 
various routes and means awaited him. 

Before dinner that night a few minutes apart with 
Hepburn made Frank happier than he had been all 
day. For his Company Commander told him that he 
had only agreed with the ColoneFs action because he 
believed that it would be for the subaltern’s own 
good, not because he considered that the latter had 
done anything to disgrace him. Hepburn added that 
if he was given command of the regiment in two 
years’ time — as should happen in the ordinary course 
of events — ^he would be glad to have Wargrave back 
again in the battalion then. Frank, with a guilty 
feeling when he remembered his compact with Violet, 
thanked him gratefully, and with a lightened heart 
went to the very festive meal that was to be 
his last for some long time, at least with his old 
corps. 

The Colonel had refused to agree to his being in- 
vited formally to be the guest of the regiment; and 
neither be nor the other married man, the Doctor, 
were present. If they slept that night they were the 
only two officers in the Cantonment that did; for 
none of the others, not even senior major, Hepburn, 
left the Mess until it was time to escort their depart- 
ing comrade to his bungalow to change for the 
journey. And, as the ^owga-ponies rattled down the 
road and bore him away, Frank’s last sight of his old 
comrades was the group of white-clad figures in the 
[92] 


SENTENCE OF EXILE 

dawn waving frantically and cheering vociferously 
from the gateway of his bungalow. 

The memory of it rejoiced him throughout the 
terrible hours of the long journey in the baking heat 
and blinding glare of the Hot Weather day. The 
worse moments were the stops every ten miles to 
change ponies, when he had to wait in the blazing 
sunshine. His ‘‘boy,’^ who sat on the front seat of 
the vehicle beside the driver, produced from a basket 
packed with wet straw cooled bottles of soda-water, 
without which Wargrave felt that he would have 
died of sunstroke. 

Then on after each halt; and the endless strip of 
white road again unrolled before him, while the 
never-ceasing clank of the iron-shod bar coupling 
the ponies maddened his aching head with its mo- 
notonous rhythm. 

As the weary miles slid past him his thoughts 
were with Violet, so beautiful, so patient and brave 
in her self-denying endurance. And he cursed 
himself for having added to her pain, and in- 
wardly vowed that some day he would atone to her 
for it. 

At last the tonga rattled into the bare compound 
of the Basedi dak-bungalow standing on a high stone 
plinth. The untidy khansamah — the custodian of 
the rest-home — ^hurried on to the verandah to greet 
the unexpected visitor and show his “boy” where to 
put the sabib^s bedding and baggage in a bleak room 

[93] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

with a cane-bottomed wooden bed hung with torn 
mosquito-curtains. 

From a glass case in the sitting-room containing 
a scanty store of canned provisions the khansamah 
provided a meal with such ill-assorted ingredients 
as Somebody’s desiccated soup lukewarm, a tin of 
sardines and sweet biscuits to eat with them, and a 
bottle of beer to wash it down with. Wargrave was 
too choked with dust, too sickened with the heat and 
glare, to have any appetite. After a smoke he 
dragged his weary body to bed and in spite of the 
mosquitoes that flocked joyously through the holes 
in the gauze curtains to feast on him slept the pro- 
found sleep of utter exhaustion. 

He was up at daybreak; for the tide served in the 
early morning and only at its height could the launch 
approach the shore, which at low water was bordered 
with the filthy slime of mangrove swamps. 

Landed at the other side of the gulf he had even 
a worse experience of travel before him than on the 
previous day. For the next stage of the journey was 
forty miles across a salt desert in a tram drawn by a 
camel. The car was open on all sides and covered 
by a cardboard roof ; and its wooden seats were un- 
comfortably hard for long hours of sitting. The 
heat was appalling. It struck up from the baked 
ground and seemed to scorch the body through the 
clothes. The glare from the white sand and even 
whiter patches of salt was blinding and penetrated 

[94] 


SENTENCE OF EXILE 


through the closed eyelids. A hot wind blew over 
the hazy, shimmering desert, setting the whirling 
dust-devils dancing and striking the face like the 
touch of a heated iron. Wargrave’s small store of 
ice and mineral water was exhausted, and he felt that 
he was likely to die of thirst. For in the villages 
where they changed camels cholera was raging; and 
he dared not drink the water from their wells. 

The tram slid easily along the shining rails that 
stretched away out of sight over the monotonous 
plain, the camel loping lazily along, its soft, sprawl- 
ing feet falling noiselessly on the sand. The last 
ten miles of the way lay through less sterile country; 
and the tram passed herds of black buck — the pretty, 
spiral-horned antelope. Used to its daily passage, the 
graceful animals, which were protected by the game- 
laws of the native State through which the line ran, 
barely troubled to move out of its way. They stood 
about in hundreds, staring lazily at it, some not ten 
yards off, the bucks turning their heads away ta 
scratch their sides with the points of their horns or 
rubbing their noses with dainty hoofs. 

That night Wargrave slept at a dak-bungalow near 
the terminus in a little native town with a small 
branch-railway connecting it with a main line. Then 
for four days he travelled across the scorching plains 
of India, shut up in stuffy carriages with violet-hued 
glass windows and Venetian wooden shutters meant 
to exclude the heat and glare. Over bare plains 

[95] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

broken by sudden flat-topped rocky hills, through 
closely-cultivated fields and stretches of scrub-jungle, 
by mud-walled villages, he journeyed day and night. 
The train crossed countless wide river-beds in which 
the streams had shrunk to mean rivulets; but when 
it clattered over the Ganges at Allahabad the sacred 
flood rolled a broad and sluggish current under the 
bridge on its way to the far-distant Bay of Bengal. 

On the fourth night Wargrave slept on a bench in 
the waiting-room of a small junction, Niralda, from 
which a narrow-guage railway branched off to the 
north from the main line through Eastern Bengal. 
At an early hour next morning he took his seat in 
the one first-class carriage of the toy train, which 
journeyed through typical Bengal scenery by mud- 
banked rice-fields, groves of tall, feathery bamboos 
and hamlets of pretty palm-thatched huts, their 
roofs hidden by the broad green leaves of sprawling 
creepers. Soon across the sky to the north a dark, 
blurred line rose, stretching out of sight east and 
west. It grew clearer as the train sped on, more 
distinct. It was the great northern rampart of India, 
the Himalayas. Then, seeming to float in air high 
above the highest of the dark mountain peaks and 
utterly detached from them, the white crests of 
the Eternal Snows shone fairy-like against the 
blue sky. 

As Wargrave gazed enraptured, suddenly hills and 
plain were shut out from his sight as the train 
[96] 


SENTENCE OF EXILE 


plunged from the dazzling sunlight into the deep 
shadows of a tropical forest. And the subaltern 
recognised with a thrill of delight that he was enter- 
ing the wonderful Terai Jungle, the marvelous belt 
of woodland that stretches for himdreds of miles 
along the foot of the Himalayas through Assam and 
Bengal to the far Siwalik range, clothing their lower 
slopes or scaling their steep sides into Nepal and 
Bhutan. Deep in its recesses the rhinoceros, bison 
and buffalo hide, herds of wild elephants roam, tigers 
prey on the countless deer, and the great mountain 
bears descend to prowl in it for food. Frank had 
learned on the way that Ranga Duar was practically 
situated in it; and the knowledge almost consoled 
him for his exile in the promise of sport that kings 
might envy. 

At a small wayside station in a clearing in the 
forest his railway journey ended. Beside the one 
small stone building two elephants were standing, 
incessantly swinging their trunks, flapping their ears 
and shifting their weight restlessly from leg to leg. 
Frank, on getting out of his carriage, learned with 
pleasure from their salaaming mahouts (drivers) 
that these animals were to be his next means of 
transport, a novel one that harmonised with the sur- 
roundings. On the back of each great beast was a 
massive, straw-filled pad secured by a rope passing 
surcingle-wise around its body. 

Each mahout carried a gun, one a heavy rifle, the 

[97] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

other a double-barrelled fowling-piece, which they 
offered to Wargrave. 

**Huzoor!” (the Presence — a polite mode of 
address in Hindustani), said one man, ^The Burra 
Sahib (the Political Sahib) sends salaams and lends 
you these, as you might see something to shoot on 
the way 

‘‘Oh, the Political Officer. Very kind of him, I’m 
sure,” remarked the subaltern. “What is his name?” 

“Durro-Mut Sahib.” 

“What a curious name!” thought Frank. For in 
the vernacular **durro mut!** means, “Do not be 
afraid! ” He concluded that it was a nickname. 

“Why is he called that?” he asked in Hindustani. 

“Because the Sahib is a very brave sahib,” replied 
the man. “Where he is there no one need fear.” 

The other mahout nodded assent, then said: 

The Commanding Sahib has sent Your Honour 
from the Mess a basket with food and drink. I have 
put it on the table in the babuls (clerk’s) office in 
the station.” 

Frank blessed his new C.O. for his thoughtful- 
ness and made a welcome meal while he watched his 
baggage being loaded on to one of the elephants. 

‘^Buthr* (Lie down) cried the mahout; and the 
obedient animal slowly sank to its knees and 
stretched out its legs before and behind. Frank’s 
“boy” mounted timorously when the luggage had been 
strapped on to the pad. When the subaltern was 
[98] 


SENTENCE OF EXILE 

ready the second elephant was ordered to kneel down 
for him; and he clambered up awkwardly and clung 
on tightly when the mahout, getting astride of the 
great neck, made it rise. 

Along a broad road cut through the forest the 
huge beasts lumbered with a plunging, swaying stride 
that was very tiring to a novice. Holding both guns 
Frank glanced continually ahead, aside and behind 
him with a delicious feeling of excited hope that at 
any moment some dangerous wild beast might 
appear. On either hand the dense under-growth 
of great, flower-covered bushes and curving fan- 
shaped palms, restricted the view to a few yards. 
From its dense tangle rose the giant trunks of huge 
trees, their leafy crowns striving to push through the 
thick canopy of vegetation overhead into the life- 
giving air and sunshine. 

But no wild animal appeared to cheer Wargrave 
on the long way; and as hour after hour went by his 
whole body ached with the strain of sitting upright 
without a support to his back and being jolted 
violently at every step of the elephant. At last they 
reached a clearing in the forest where stood the 
mahout*s huts and a tall, wooden building, the 
peelkhana, or elephant stables. It lay at the foot of 
the mountains; and from here the road wound up- 
wards among the lower hills, under steep cliffs, by 
the brink of precipices and beside deep ravines 
down which brawling streams tumbled. 

[99] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

As the party mounted higher and ever higher the 
big trees fell away behind them until Frank could 
look down on a sea of foliage stretching away out 
of sight east and west but bounded on the south by 
the Plains of India seen vaguely through the 
shimmering heat-haze. Up, up they climbed, until 
far above him he caught glimpses of buildings dotted 
about among jungle-clad knolls and spurs jutting out 
from the dark face of the mountains. And at last 
as evening shadows began to lengthen they 
reached a lovely recess in the hills, a deep horse- 
shoe; and in it an artificially-levelled parade- 
ground, a rifle-range running up a gully, a few 
bungalows dotted about among the trees and lines 
of single-storied barracks enclosed by a loopholed 
stone wall told Wargrave that he had come to his 
journey^s end. This was his place of exile — this was 
Ranga Duar. 


[lOO] 


CHAPTER VI 


A BORDER OUTPOST 

^What a beautiful spot!’’ thought Frank as he 
gazed entranced at the scenery. ‘T’ve never seen 
anything like it. It looks like Heaven after the 
ugliness of Rohar. And how delightfully cool it is, 
too, up in the mountains! Well, with this climate 
and good shooting in the forest below life won’t be 
as dreadful as I thought. I wish poor Violet were 
here out of the heat and glare. How she’d love all 
this beauty, these trees, these gardens, the glorious 
mountains 1 ” 

He sighed as he thought of the woman who was 
so far away. 

^^Huzoor, that is the Mess/’ broke in the voice 
of his mahout, as he pointed to a long, red-tiled 
building half-hidden among the trees a few hundred 
feet above them. To reach it they had to pass a 
large, well-built stone bungalow, two-storied, un- 
like all the others and standing in a lovely garden 
glowing with the vivid hues of the flowers, the 
flaming red of huge bushes of bougainvillea and 
poinsettia. Frank, glancing towards it, was about 
to ask the mahout who lived in it when he started 
in horror and cried to the man: 

[lOl] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

‘^StopI Stop your animal! Look there!” 

And he snatched at his rifle. For on the farther 
side of the house a huge tusker elephant in the 
garden stood over a little European boy about four 
years old, who was sprawling almost under the 
huge feet. And high above its head the brute held 
in its curved trunk a younger child, a girl with 
long golden curls, as if about to dash it to the 
ground. 

As Frank grasped the rifle the mahout, who had 
turned at his cry, seized the barrel and said with 
a smile: 

**Durro mut, Sahib! Do not fear, sir. Those 
are Durro Mut Sahib’s babies and the elephant is 
their playmate.” 

And as he spoke Wargrave saw the elder child 
spring up from the ground and beat the great 
animal’s legs with his tiny hands, crying: 

*^Mujh-ko bhi, Badshah! Mujh’ko hhi! Uth! 
Uth! (Me too, Badshah! Me too! Take me up! )” 

And the baby held aloft was crowing in glee and 
kicking its fat little legs frantically. The elephant 
lowered it tenderly to the ground and picked up 
the boy in its stead and lifted him into the air, while 
he laughed and clapped his hands. The two mahouts 
raised their palms respectfully to their foreheads 
and cried to their animals: 

^^Salaam kuro! (Salute!)” 

And the two trunks were lifted together in the 
[102] 


A BORDER OUTPOST 

Salaamut, the royal salute given to Bangs and 
Viceroys. 

Frank’s mahout explained. 

^^Gharib Parwar (Protector of the Poor), the pa- 
gan ignorant Hindus around here say that the ele- 
phant is a god. Aye, and that his master, Durro Mut 
Sahib, is one too. ThaPs like enough. Well, Allah 
alone knows the truth of everything. But those two 
are more than mere man and animal, that is certain. 
Mul, Moti! (Go on. Pearl!)” 

And he kicked his elephant under the ears with 
his bare feet to quicken her pace. But Frank bade 
him stop. Despite the man’s optimism he could not 
believe it wise to allow tiny tots like that to play 
with such a huge, clumsy animal. He was sure that 
their mother would be horrified if she knew it. He 
loved children, and felt that it was madness to 
allow these babies to continue their dangerous pas- 
time. 

‘‘Have they a mother?” he asked the mahout, 

“Yes, Huzoor, The mem-Sahib (lady) is doubt- 
less within the house.” 

“I want to dismount,” said Frank; and he 
grasped the surcingle rope as the elephant sank 
jerkily to its knees. Then sliding down from the 
pad he entered the gate and passed up through the 
garden towards the bungalow. As he did so a dainty 
little figure in white, a charmingly pretty girl with 
golden hair and blue eyes, came out on the verandah. 

[103] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

Seeing him she walked down the steps to meet him 
and held out her hand, saying in a pleasant, musical 
voice: 

‘^You are Mr. Wargrave, of course? Welcome 
to Ranga Duar.” 

Frank, uncomfortably conscious of his dishevelled 
appearance and travel-stained attire, almost blushed 
as he took off his hat and quickened his steps to 
meet her, wondering who this delightful young girl 
— she looked about nineteen — could be. Possibly 
an elder sister of the children outside. But as they 
shook hands she said: 

“I am the wife of the Political Officer here. My 
husband, Colonel Dermot, has just gone up to the 
Mess to see your C.O., Major Hunt.” 

Frank was astonished. This pretty young girl, 
scarcely more than a child herself, the mother of 
the two chubby babies! Touched by her kind man- 
ner he shook her hand warmly and said: 

‘‘Thank you very much for your welcome, Mrs. 
Dermot. IPs awfully good of you, and I — I assure 
you I appreciate it a lot just now. I was coming to 
tell you — I wonder do you know that your babies 
— I suppose they are yours — are playing what seems 
to me rather a dangerous game with an elephant at 
the side of the house.” 

Mrs. Dermot smiled; and the dimples that came 
with the smile carried his mind back for an inst^t 
to Violet. 

[104] 


A BORDER OUTPOST 

‘‘Yes, they are my chicks,” she said. “I left 
them in Badshah’s charge.” 

Frank was not altogether reassured. The young 
mother evidently did not know what was happening. 

“But — ^pardon me — is it quite safe? I was a bit 
scared when I saw them. The animal was tossing 
them up in the air.” 

“You neednT be alarmed, Mr. Wargrave — though 
it’s very good of you to be concerned and come 
to tell me,” she replied. “But Badshah — that’s the 
elephant’s name — ^is a most careful nurse and I know 
that my babies are quite safe when they are in his 
care. He has looked after them since they were 
able to crawl. Come and be introduced to him. I 
must tell you that he is a very exceptional animal. 
Indeed, we almost forget that he is an animal. He 
has saved our lives, my husband’s and mine, on 
more than one occasion. Next to the children and 
me I think that Kevin loves him better than anyone 
or anything else in the world. And after my chicks 
and Kevin and my brother I believe I do, too. As 
for the babies, I’m not sure that he doesn’t come 
first with them.” 

She led the way round the house, and in spite of 
her assurances Wargrave felt a little nervous when 
they came in sight of the strange nurse and its, 
charges. The tiny girl was seated on the ground 
tightly clasping one huge foreleg; while the boy was, 
beating the other with his little fists, crying: 

[105] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

^^Mujh-ko uth! Pir! Pir! (Lift me up 1 Again I 
Again!)” 

When he saw his mother he ran to her and said: 

‘‘Mummie, bad, naughty Badshah won’t lift 
me up.” 

He suddenly caught sight of the stranger and 
paused shyly. 

“Brian darling, this is a new friend,” said his 
mother, bending down to him. “Won’t you shake 
hands with him?” 

The child conquered his shyness with an effort 
Sand walked over to Frank, holding out his little 
hand. 

“How do you do?” he said politely. 

The subaltern gravely shook the proffered hand. 
The little girl scrambled to her fat little legs and 
finger in mouth, surveyed him solemnly. Then satis- 
fied with her inspection she toddled forward to him 
and said: 

“Tiss me.” 

Frank laughed joyously. 

“With all my heart, you darling.” he cried. 

This delightful welcome in the dreaded place of 
exile was inexpressibly cheering. He swung the 
dainty mite up in his arms and kissed her. She put 
her arms around his neck and hugged him. 

“Me like ’oo,” she said 

“You little flirt, Eileen,” exclaimed her mother 
laughing. “Now it’s Badshah’s turn.” 

[io6] 


A BORDER OUTPOST 

She walked to the elephant, a splendid specimen 
of its race, though it had only one tusk, the right. 
She held out her hand to it. The long trunk shot 
out, brushed her fingers and then her cheek with a 
light touch that was almost a caress. She stroked 
the trunk affectionately. 

“Now, Badshah, this is a new Sahib.” 

Frank, with the baby girl seated on his shoulder, 
stepped forward and extended his hand. The 
animal smelt it and then laid its trunk for a moment 
on his free shoulder. 

“Badshah accepts you, Mr. Wargrave,” said Mrs. 
Dermot seriously. “And there are few whom he 
takes to readily.” 

Eileen, with one arm around Frank^s neck, 
stretched out the other to the elephant. 

“Me love Badshah,” she said. 

The snake-like trunk lingered caressingly on her 
golden head. The baby caught and kissed it. 

“Now then, chickies, time for bed,” said their 
mother. “Say goodnight to Badshah.” 

The little boy ran to the great animal and hugged 
its leg tightly, while the snaky trunk touched the 
child^s face affectionately. 

“Come along, Brian. Let him go now”; and at 
his mother^s bidding the boy released his clasp and 
ran to her. 

“Goodnight, Badshah. Salaam!** said Mrs. Der- 
mot, waving her hand to the mammoth, while her 
[107] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

little daughter on Wargrave’s shoulder imitated her. 

The big animal raised its trunk in salute and, 
turning, walked with swaying stride out of sight 
behind the bungalow. 

‘‘By Jove, what a splendid beast 1” exclaimed 
Frank. “And how wonderfully well trained he is. 
I’m not surprised now that you let the kiddies play 
with him.” 

Mrs. Dermot smiled. 

“You would be even less so if you knew his 
story,” she said. “He is my husband’s private 
property now. The Government of India presented 
him to Kevin. Now come back to the house and 
have tea. Oh, no, after your long ride you’ll prefer 
a whiskey and soda.” 

“I’d really rather have the tea, I think, Mrs. 
Dermot. I don’t feel thirsty up in this deliciously 
cool air. It’s awful down in the Plains now. But 
what about my elephants and baggage?” 

“Tell the mahouts to go to the Mess. You are to 
have a room there.” 

Frank did so; and the two animals lumbered 
away up the hill after the mahouts had brought 
the Colonel’s guns into the bungalow. 

Mrs. Dermot led the way into the house. The 
little boy had possessed himself of Wargrave’s free 
hand, the other one being engaged in holding Eileen, 
who was perched on the subaltern’s shoulder. Mrs. 
Dermot found it difficult to separate the children 
[io8] 


A BORDER OUTPOST 

from their new friend when at last she bore them 
off to bed. 

Left to himself, Frank examined with deep 
interest and admiring envy the splendid display of 
Colonel Dermot’s trophies of big game shooting 
that filled the bungalow. From the walls many 
heads of bison and buffalo, of sambhur and bara- 
singhj those fine Indian stags, looked mildly at him 
with their glass eyes; while tigers, bears and 
panthers snarled at him from the ground. Long 
elephant-tusks leaned in corners, smoking and li- 
queur-tables made up from the mammoths^ legs and 
feet stood about, and crossed from ceiling to floor; 
on the walls were the skins of enormous snakes 
such as Frank had never seen or imagined. He had 
thought a six-foot cobra or an eight-foot python 
long — here were reptiles sixteen or eighteen feet in 
length, and he hoped that he would never meet 
their equals alive in the jungle. 

While he was gazing with admiration at the fine 
collection of trophies Mrs. Dermot returned. 

^‘What a magnificent lot of heads and skins you’ve 
got here!” he exclaimed. “All your husband’s, I 
suppose?” 

She laughed as she glanced round the room, 
while pouring out the tea that her butler had 
brought. 

“I’m afraid they make the house rather like a 
museum of natural history,” she answered. “Yes, 
[109] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL -v 

they are all Kevin’s, or nearly all. There are a few 
of mine among them.” 

He looked at her in open admiration. 

“Oh, you shoot? How splendid!” he said. 
“Have you ever got a tiger?” 

“A couple,” she replied, smiling. 

“I envy you awfully,” he said. “I’ve never even 
seen one — out of a cage.” 

“Well, if you are keen on shooting, Mr. War- 
grave, you ought to have little difficulty in bagging 
a tiger or two before long,” she said. 

“I’d love to have the chance of going after big 
game. I’m hoping for it here. Shall I? I’ve never 
had any, although I’ve shot a panther or two and 
a few black buck and chinkara!' 

“You will have every opportunity of good sport 
here. Neither of the other two Europeans, your 
Commanding Officer and the doctor of your de- 
tachment, go in for it, the latter because his sight 
is very bad. Major Hunt because he doesn’t care 
for it. I’m sure my husband will be glad to take 
you out with him; and nobody in the whole Terai 
knows more about big game than he.” 

“By Jove; how ripping,” exclaimed Frank eagerly. 
“Would he?” 

“I’m sure he would. He’ll be only too delighted to 
have someone for company. I used to go with him 
always, until my babies came. Now Kevin has no 
one but Badshah.” 


[no] 


A BORDER OUTPOST 

“Batdshah? Oh, yes, that ripping elephant. I 
don’t know much about those animals, but isn’t it 
unusual for him to have only a single tusk?” 

“Yes; Badshah is what the natives call a ‘Gunesh.’ 
You know that Gunesh is the Hindu God of Wisdom 
and is represented as having an elephant’s head with 
only the right tusk? Consequently any of these 
animals born with a single tusk, and that the 
right, is considered sacred and looked upon 
as a god.” 

“One of the mahouts said that the Hindus here 
regard your husband as one, too,” said Frank, “and 
he seemed inclined to believe it himself. I like the 
name they’ve given Colonel Dermot — Durro Mut 
Sahib, Fear Not Sahib.” 

A look of pride came in the young wife’s eyes 
as she repeated the name softly to herself. 

“Fear Not Sahib. Yes, it suits him.” Then aloud 
she continued: 

“I think you’ll like my husband, Mr. Wargrave. 
All men do. He’s a man’s man. The hill and jungle 
people worship him. He understands them. Ah I 
here he is, I think.” 

Her face brightened, and Frank saw the light of 
love shine in her eyes as she turned expectantly to 
the door. He sprang up as a tall man with hand- 
some, clear-cut features, dark complexion and eyes, 
and close-crppped black hair touched at the temples 
with grey, entered the room. With a pleasant smile 

[III] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

Ihe newcomer walked towards the subaltern with 
outstretched hand, saying in a friendly voice: 

‘‘Glad to welcome you to Ranga Duar, Wargrave/^ 

“Thank you very much, sir,” replied Frank grip- 
ping his hand and greatly taken at once by the 
Political Officer’s appearance and friendly manner. 
“It was very kind of you to send those guns for 
me. But I had no luck. We saw nothing on the 
way.” 

After greeting him Colonel Dermot bent over 
his wife and kissed her fondly. It was obvious to 
the subaltern that after their five years of married 
life they were lovers still. Frank looked at them 
a little enviously. He wondered would it be so 
with Violet and him after the same lapse of time; 
for the sight of their happiness sent his thoughts 
flying to the woman who loved him. 

“Are you keen on shooting, Wargrave?” said the 
Colonel. 

“Oh, yes, he is, Kevin,” broke in his wife. “I 
told him that I was sure you’d be glad to take him 
with you into the jungle sometimes.” 

“I’ll be happy to do so, if you care to come with 
me, Wargrave,” said the Colonel. 

“I’d love to, sir. It would be awfully good of 
you,” replied the subaltern eagerly. “But I’ve only 
a Mannlicher rifle.” 

“Ah, you’ll need a bigger bore than that. But I 
can lend you a .470 high velocity cordite weapon. 

[112] 


A BORDER OUTPOST 

You want something with great hitting power for 
dangerous game/’ said Dermot. 

He went on to speak of the jungle and its deni- 
zens; and his conversation was so interesting that 
Wargrave forgot the flight of time until his hostess 
reminded him that he had to report his arrival to 
his commanding officer and find his new quarters. 
Her husband volunteered to show him the way to 
the Mess and introduce him to Major Hunt. 

As Wargrave shook hands with Mrs. Dermot, 
she said: 

‘T wanted to ask you to dinner this evening; but 
Kevin thought you might prefer to spend your first 
night with your brother officers. But we shall 
expect you to-morrow, when they are coming, too.” 

On their way up the steep road from his bungalow 
the Political Officer spoke of the great forest below 
them and the sport to be found in it. Then he 
said: 

‘Tt’s lucky you like shooting, Wargrave, for 
Ranga Duar is very isolated and life in it dull to 
a person who has no resources. Still, it has its 
advantages, and chief among them is the climate. 
It’s delightful in the cold weather and pleasant in 
the hot.” 

“By Jove, it is indeed, sir! It’s like Heaven after 
the heat in the Plains below. I don’t know how I 
lived through it coming across India.” 

“The rsuny season is the hardest to bear. We 

[113] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

have five months of it and over three hundred inches 
of rain during them. One never sees a strange face 
then — ^not that we ever do have many visitors here 
at any time. Still, you’ll like your C.O., and Burke 
the doctor is a capital fellow. Here we are.” 

He turned in through a narrow gate leading to 
a pretty though neglected garden in which stood 
the Mess, a long, single-storied building raised on 
piles. On the broad wooden verandah to which si 
flight of steps led from the ground two men were 
reclining in long chairs reading old newspapers. On 
seeing Dermot and his companion they rose, and the 
Colonel introduced Frank. They shook hands with 
him and gave him a hearty welcome, which, coming 
on the top of the Dermot’s, cheered the subaltern 
exceedingly and for the time made him forget the 
circumstances of his coming. 

‘Tt’s mighty glad I am to see you here, Wargrave,” 
said Burke, the doctor, in a mellow brogue, ‘‘aven 
av it’s only to have someone living in the Mess wid 
me. The Major there lives in solitary state in his 
little bungalow; and I’m all alone here at night wid 
Shaitans (devils) and wild beasts walking on the 
verandah.” 

‘‘What? Has that panther been prowling round 
the Mess again?” asked the Political Officer. 

“Faith I and he has that. Sure, I heard him 
sniffing at me door last night. I wish to the Powers 
ye’d shoot him, sir.” 


A BORDER OUTPOST 

“I can^t get him. IVe tried often enough.” 

^‘Trothl and iPs waking up one fine morning V\l 
be to find he’s made a meal av me. Keep your 
door shut at night, Wargrave. Merrick, who lived 
in the room you’ll have, forgot to do it once and 
the divil nearly had him.” 

‘Ts that really a fact?” asked Frank, delighted 
at the thought of having come to a place with such 
possibilities of sport. 

“Yes; we’re plagued by a brute of a panther that 
prowls about the station at night, jumps the wall of 
the Fort and carries off the sepoys’ dogs, and has 
actually entered rooms here in the Mess. He has 
killed several Bhuttia children on the hills around 
here. Nobody can ever get a shot at him. He’s 
too cunning. Will you have a drink. Colonel?” said 
Hunt. 

The Political Officer thanked him but declined, 
and, reminding them all of his wife’s invitation for 
the morrow, bade them goodnight. 

“That’s one av the finest men in India,” ex- 
claimed Burke, as they watched Dermot’s figure 
receding down the road. The doctor had a pleasant, 
ugly face and wore spectacles. 

“He is, indeed. He keeps the whole Bhutan 
border in order,” said the commandant, Major 
Hunt, a slight, grey-haired man with a quiet and 
reserved manner. “The Bhuttias are more afraid 
of a cross look from him than of all our rifles and 
[IIS] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

machine-guns. Have a drink, Wargrave? Yes? 
And you, Burke? Hi, boy!” 

A Gurkha servant with the ugly, cheery face of 
his race appeared and was ordered to bring three 
whiskeys and sodas. 

‘^Ranga’s not a bad place if you can stand the 
loneliness,” continued the Major. “Are you fond 
of shooting.” 

“Yes, sir, awfully.” 

“Hooray! That’s good,” cried Burke. “Now 
we’ll have someone to go down to the jungle and 
shoot for the Mess. We want a change from tinned 
Army rations and the tough ould bins that these 
benighted haythins call chickens.” 

“Yes, you’ll be a Godsend to us if you’re a good 
shot, Wargrave,” added the Commandant. “We 
never get meat here unless someone shoots a stag 
or a buck in the jungle; and for that we generally 
have to rely on Dermot. But he is away such a lot, 
wandering along the frontier, keeping an eye on the 
peace of the Border. Now we’ll be able to look to 
you. We have three transport elephants with the 
detachment, all steady to shoot from.” 

Frank was delighted. 

“I’d love to go into the jungle if you’d let me, 
sir.” 

“Yes, I’ll be glad if you do. There’s not much 
work for you here; and this is a dull place for a 
youngster unless he’s keen on sport. I’m not, my- 

[ii6] 


A BORDER OUTPOST 

self; and Burke’s as blind as a bat. But you can 
always have an elephant when they aren’t wanted 
to bring up supplies from the railway.” 

The subaltern thanked him gratefully and in- 
wardly decided that his new commanding officer 
was a great improvement on Colonel Trevor. 

‘‘Now, Burke, I’m off to my bungalow. Show 
Wargrave his quarters,” said the Major rising. 
“See you at dinner.” 

Burke showed the subaltern his room, one of 
the four into which the Mess was divided. Like 
the doctor’s quarters, it was at one end of the 
building, the centre apartment being the officers’ 
anteroom and dining-room. Frank found that his 
“boy,” with the ready deftness of Indian servants, 
had unpacked his trunks, hung up his clothes and 
stowed his various belongings about the scantily- 
furnished room. He had stood Violet’s photo on the 
one rickety table and laid out his Master’s white 
mess uniform on the small iron cot. 

Major Hunt, Wargrave learned, lived in a bunga- 
low a few hundred yards away, but, being unmarried, 
took his meals in the Mess. The Indian officers and 
sepoys of the detachment were quartered in barracks 
in the Fort. 

Frank dressed and entered the anteroom or 
officers’ sitting-room, from which a door led into 
the messroom. Both apartments were poorly fur- 
nished, but the walls were adorned with the skulls 

[117] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

and skins of many beasts of the jungle, presented 
by Colonel Dermot, as Frank learned. Shelves filled 
with books ran across one end of the anteroom. 

As the interior of the Mess was rather hot at that 
time of year — though to Wargrave it seemed very 
cool after Rohar — the dinner-table was laid on the 
verandah; and while the officers sat at their meal the 
pleasant mountain breeze played about them. Frank 
thought with gratitude of his escape from the burn- 
ing heat which at that moment was tormenting the 
hundreds of millions in the furnace of the Plains of 
India stretching away from the foot of the cool 
hills. 

The meal was not luxurious, for it consisted 
almost exclusively of tinned provisions, fresh meat 
being unprocurable in Ranga Duar — except fowls 
of exceeding toughness — and vegetables and bread 
being rare dainties. 

During dinner Wargrave learned how completely 
isolated his new station was. Their only European 
neighbours were the planters on tea-gardens scat- 
tered about in the great forest below, the nearest 
thirty miles off. The few visitors that Ranga Duar 
saw in the year were the General on his annual 
inspection, an occasional official of the Indian Civil 
Service, the Public Works or the Forest Department, 
or some planter friend of the Dermots. 

The reason of the existence of this outpost and 
its garrison was the guarding of the duars, or passes, 

[ii8] 


A BORDER OUTPOST 

through the Himalayas against raiders from Bhutan, 
that little-known independent State lying between 
Tibet and the Bengal border. Its frontier was only 
two miles from, and a few thousand feet above, 
Ranga Duar. 

‘‘You are just in time for our one yearly burst 
of gaiety, Wargrave,” said the Commandant, “the 
visit of the Deb Zimpun.” 

“What on earth is that, sir?” asked the subaltern. 

“Sounds like a new disease, doesn^t it?” said 
Burke laughing. “But it isn’t. The Deb Zimpun is 
a gintleman av high degree, the Heridithary Cup 
Bearer to the Deb Raja.” 

“To the what?” demanded the bewildered Frank. 

Major Hunt smiled. 

“Bhutan is supposed to be ruled by a temporal 
monarch called the Deb Raja and also by a spiritual 
one, known in India as the Durma Raja. In reality 
it is under the sway of the most powerful of the 
several great feudal lords of the land, the Tongsa 
Penlop or Chief of Tongsa, whom we regard as the 
Maharajah of Bhutan. He has placed himself, as 
far only as the foreign relations of the country go, 
under the suzerainty of the Government of India; 
and in return we grant him a subsidy of a lakh of 
rupees a year. It used to be fifty thousand, but 
the sum was doubled years ago. To get the money 
one of the State Council comes every year. He is an 
official called the Deb Zimpun.” 

[119] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

'Taithl he’s a rum old beggar, Wargrave,” broke 
in Burke. '‘Looks like the Pope av Rome in his 
thriple crown, for he wears a high gold-edged cap 
and a flowing red robe av Chinese silk, out av which 
sticks a pair av hairy bare legs.” 

“The Political Officer receives him in durbar; 
and we furnish a Guard of Honour. The Colonel 
gives a dinner to him and us, and we have another 
spread in the Mess. That reminds me. I suppose 
Dermot will be going into the jungle soon to shoot 
for the pot, as the durbar is next week. You’d better 
get him to take you. You can have one of our 
elephants and provide for our larder.” 

“Thanks very much. Major,” said the delighted 
subaltern. “The Colonel promised to let me ac- 
company him and lend me a rifle.” 

When he went to his room that night the subaltern 
turned up the oil lamp that lighted it and before he 
undressed sat down before Violet’s photograph. As 
he looked at it he thought affectionately and a little 
sadly of the lonely woman so far away from him 
now. He pitied her for the isolation in which she 
lived, an isolation far completer than his own, for 
she had few friends, no intimates, and a husband 
worse than a stranger in his lack of understanding 
of her. Surely it would be only right to take her 
from such a man, right to give her a fresh chance of 
finding the happiness that she had missed; for the 
warm - hearted, intelligent and artistic - natured 

[I20] 


A BORDER OUTPOST 


woman would be far happier with him in this 
beautiful spot, remote from the world though it was. 
And his new comrades would appeal to her, Dermot, 
strong, capable, one who would always stand out 
from his fellows; Hunt grave, kindly, well-read; 
Burke witty, clever and good-hearted. And, little 
though Violet cared for her own sex, as a rule, surely 
in Mrs. Dermot she would find a friend. This happy 
wife, this loving mother, was so sweet and S3mipa- 
thetic that she would win the older woman’s liking, 
while the two delightful children would take her 
heart by storm. Poor, lonely Violet, so beautiful, so 
ill-fated! Frank sighed as he took up her portrait 
and kissed it. 

When he extinguished the lamp and lay down in 
bed it was pleasant, after the heat in Rohar, to find 
it so cool that he was obliged to pull a blanket over 
him. Only those who have endured the torment of 
hot nights in the tropics can appreciate his thank- 
fulness as in the silence broken only by the monoto- 
nous cry of the nightjars he drowsed contentedly to 
sleep. Already he was reconciled to Ranga Du^. 


[I2l] 


CHAPTER VII 


IN THE TERM JUNGLE 

In the pleasant light of the morning the little 
outpost looked as charming to Wargrave as it had 
done on the previous evening. Above Ranga Duar 
the mountains towered to the pale blue sky, while 
below it the foothills fell in steps to the broad sea 
of foliage of the great forest stretching away to the 
distant plains seen vaguely through the haze. The 
horse-shoe hollow in which the tiny station was set 
was bowered in vegetation. The gardens glowed 
with the varied hues of flowers, and were bounded 
by hedges of wild roses. The road and paths were 
bordered by the tall, graceful plumes of the bamboo 
and shaded by giant mango and banyan trees, their 
boughs clothed with orchids. 

Frank had noticed the previous day that the 
Fort, barracks and bungalows were all newly built, 
and he learned that during the great war which 
had raged along the frontiers of India five years 
before, the post had been fiercely attacked by an 
army of Chinese and Bhutanese and the little station 
practically wiped out of existence, although victory 
had finally rested with the few survivors of the 
garrison. 

From the first the subaltern took a great liking 
to the tall Punjaubi Mahommedan and hook-nosed, 
fair-skinned Pathan native officers and sepoys of 
[122] 


IN THE TERM JUNGLE 

the detachment. The work was light and scarcely 
required two British officers; and Frank soon found 
that Major Hunt, who seemed driven by a demon 
of quiet energy, preferred to do most of it himself. 
Frank got the impression that to the elder man 
occupation was an anodyne for some secret sorrow. 
Although the subaltern had no wish to shirk his 
duty he could not but be glad that his superior 
officer seemed always ready to dispense with his 
aid, for thus he would find it easier to get permis- 
sion to go shooting. 

His first excursion into the jungle was arranged 
at dinner at the Dermots’ house on his second 
evening in Ranga Duar. The Colonel proposed to 
take him out on the following Monday, for on the 
next day the Deh Zimpun would arrive. 

‘^He always brings a big train of Bhuttias with 
him, eighty swordsmen as an escort to the small 
army of coolies necessary to carry a hundred thou- 
sand silver rupees in boxes over the Himalayan 
passes. I like to give them the flesh of a few 
sambhur stags as a treat,’’ said the Colonel. 

^‘Hiven hilp ye av ye bring any sambhur flesh to 
the Mess, Wargrave,” said Burke. ‘‘We want some- 
thing we can get our teeth into. No, we expect a 
khakur from you.” 

“What’s a khakur?^"* asked Frank. 

“It’s the muntjac or barking deer,” replied Der- 
mot. “You wouldn’t know it if you haven’t shot in 

[123] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

forests. It gets its English name from its call, which 
is not unlike a dog’s bark.” 

‘^Whin ye hear one saying *Wonk! WonkV in the 
jungle, Wargrave, get up the nearest tree; for the 
khakur is warning all whom it may concern that 
there’s a tiger in the immajit vicinity.” 

Frank had already learned to distrust most of 
Burke’s statements on sport, for the doctor was an 
inveterate joker. So he looked to the Political 
Officer for confirmation. 

‘‘Yes, it’s supposed to be the case,” ^reed the 
Colonel. “And I’ve more than once heard a tiger 
loudly express his annoyance when a khakur 
barked as he was trying to sneak by unnoticed. 
There’s a barking-deer.” He pointed to the well- 
mounted head of a small deer on the wall of the 
dining-room. 

“Whom do you expect up for the Durbar, Mrs. 
Dermot?” asked Major Hunt. 

“Only Mr. Carter, the Sub-divisional Officer, and 
probably Mr. Benson.” 

“Eh — is — isn’t Miss Benson coming too?” asked 
the doctor in a hesitating manner so unlike his 
usual cheery and assured self that Frank looked 
at him. It seemed to him that Burke was blushing. 

“Oh, yes, I hope so,” replied Mrs. Dermot. 

“Er — haven’t you heard from her?” persisted the 
doctor anxiously. 

“I had a letter this afternoon brought by a coolie. 

[124] 


IN THE TERM JUNGLE 

Muriel wrote to say that they were in the Buxa 
Reserve but hoped to get here in time. I^m looking 
forward to her coming immensely. It’s four months 
since I saw her.” 

Frank could not help noticing that Burke seemed 
to hang on Mrs. Dermot’s words; and he began 
to wonder if the unknown lady held the doctor’s 
heart. 

^Tt’s rather hard on a girl like Miss Benson to 
have to lead such a lonely life and rough it con- 
stantly in the jungle as she does,” remarked Major 
Hunt. “At her age she must want gaiety and 
amusement.” 

“Muriel doesn’t mind it,” replied the hostess. 
“She loves jungle life. And she thinks that her 
father couldn’t get on without her.” 

“Sure, she’s right there, Mrs. Dermot,” cried 
Burke. “The dear ould boy’ ud lose his head av 
he hadn’t her to hould it on for him. She does most 
av his work. It’s a sight to see that slip av a girl 
bossing all the forest guards and hahus and giving 
them their ordhers.” 

Wargrave was anxious to hear more of this girl, 
in whom it appeared to him Burke was very much 
interested; but Colonel Dermot broke in: 

“Talking of orders, have you any for the butcher’s 
man, Noreen?” he asked, smiling at his wife. 

“Yes, dear; will you please bring me a khakur and 
some jungle fowl? And if you can manage it a br^e 
[I2S] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

of Kdtej pheasants,” said the good housewife seri- 
ously. 

‘Well, Wargrave, weVe both got our orders and 
know what to bring back from the jungle,” said the 
Colonel, turning to Frank, who was sitting beside 
him. Then the conversation between them drifted 
into sporting channels until all adjourned outside for 
coffee on the verandah. 

Next afternoon the subaltern, passing down the 
road, was hailed from the Dermots’ garden by an 
imperious small lady with golden curls and big blue 
bows and ordered to play with her. Her brother 
and Badshah had to join in the game, too. Frank, 
chasing the dainty mite round and round the 
elephant, began to think himself in the Garden of 
Eden. 

But that same evening he found that his Him- 
alayan Paradise was not without its serpent. The 
three officers of the detachment were seated at 
dinner on the Mess verandah. Major Hunt with his 
back to the rough stone wall of the building. A 
swinging oil lamp with a metal shade threw the 
light downward and left the ceiling and upper part 
of the wall in shadow. 

When dinner was ended the Commandant, lighting 
a cheerot, tilted his chair on its back legs until 
his head nearly touched the wall. Frank, talking to 
him, chanced to look up at the roof. He stared into 
the shadows for a moment, then, suddenly grasping 
[126] 


IN THE TERM JUNGLE 

the astonished major by the collar, jerked him buJ| 
of his chair. And as he did so a snake, a deadly 
hill-viper, which had been trying to climb up the 
rough face of the wall, slipped and dropped on to 
the Commandant’s chair, slid to the floor and glided 
across the verandah and down into the garden before 
anyone could find a stick with which to attack it. 

Major Hunt, his sallow face a little paler than 
usual, looked up at the wall to see if any more 
reptiles were likely to follow, then sat down again 
calmly. 

“Thank you, Wargrave,” he said quietly. “But 
for you that brute would have got me. And his bite is 
death. Ranga’s full of snakes, like all these places 
in the hills. We’ve killed several in the Mess since 
I’ve been here; but no one’s had such a close shave 
as this. I’ll stand you a drink for that. Hi, boyl” 

But for all this quiet manner of taking it Frank 
had made a staunch friend that night by his prompt 
action. 

As Burke took the filled glass that the Gurkha 
mess-servant brought him at the Major’s order he 
said: 

“I hate snakes worse than the Divil hates holy 
wather. They’re the only things in life I’m afraid 
av. I never go to bed without looking under the 
pillow nor put on my boots in the morning without 
first turning them up and shaking them. I wish 
St. Pathrick had made a trip to India ^d dhriven 
[127] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

the sarpints out av the counthry the same as he 
did in Ireland/’ 

«WeVe the worst snake in the world, I believe, 
here in the Terai, Wargrave,” said Major Hunt. 
“Look out for it when you’re in the jungle. It’s the 
hamadryad or king-cobra. Have you heard of it?” 

“I saw the skin of one sixteen feet long in a Bom- 
bay museum, sir,” replied the subaltern. 

“It’s the only snake in Asia that will attack 
human beings unprovoked; it’s deadly poisonous, 
unlike all other big snakes, and they say it moves 
so fast that it can overtake a man on a pony. 
Benson, the Forest Officer of the district, tells me 
there are many of them in the jungles here.” 

“One av the divils chased Dermot’s elephant once 
and turned on the Colonel when he interfered. It 
got its head blown off for its pains,” put in the 
doctor. 

“Don’t tell me any more, Burke,” exclaimed War- 
grave laughing, “or I won’t be able to sleep to-night.” 

He pushed back his chair as the Commandant 
rose from the table and, saying goodnight to the 
two junior officers, picked up from the verandah and 
lit a hurricane lantern and walked down the Mess 
steps with it on his way home to his bungalow. 
Europeans in India do not ca;re to move about at 
night without a lamp lest in the darkness they might 
tread on a snake. 

Early on the following Monday morning Wargrave, 
dressed in khaki knickerbockers, shirt and puttees, 
[128] 


IN THE TERM JUNGLE 

and wearing besides his pith helmet a ‘‘spine pro- 
tector’’ — a quilted cloth pad buttoned to the back 
— as a guard against simstroke, went down to the 
Dermots’ bungalow. In the garden the Colonel, 
also prepared for their shooting expedition, stood 
talking to his wife, while their children were trying 
to climb up Badshah’s legs. The elephant was 
equipped with a light pad provided with large 
pockets into which were thrust Thermos flasks, 
packets of sandwiches and of cartridges. Close by 
two servants were holding guns. 

“Good morning, Wargrave,” said the Colonel, as 
the subaltern greeted him and his wife. “You’re in 
good time.” 

Eileen, deserting Badshah, ran to Frank and de- 
manded to be lifted up and kissed. When he had 
obeyed the small tyrant, he said: 

“I haven’t brought a rifle, sir.” 

“That’s right. I have one and a ball-and-shot 
gun for you. We’ll walk down to the peelkhana by a 
short cut through the hills to look for kalej pheasant 
on the way. Take the gun with you and load one 
barrel with shot; but put a bullet in the other, for you 
never know what we may meet. Badshah will go 
down by the road, as well as one of the servants to 
bring the rifles and tell the mahouts to get a de- 
tachment elephant ready. It will follow us in the 
jungle to carry any animals we kill, while we’ll ride 
Badshah.” 

[129] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

Kissing his wife and children the Colonel led the 
way down the road, followed by Frank and the 
servant, Badshah walking unattended behind them. 

‘‘(k)od sport, Mr. WargraveP^ called out Mrs. 
Dermot, as the subaltern turned at the gate to take 
off his hat in a farewell salute; and the little co- 
quette beside her kissed her tiny hand to him. 

After they had gone half a mile the two officers, 
carrying their fowling-pieces, turned off along a 
footpath through the undergrowth, leaving the ser- 
vant and the elephant to continue down the road. 
The track led steeply down the mountain-side, at 
first between high, closely-matted bushes, and then 
through scrub-jungle dotted with small trees, among 
the foliage of which gleamed the yellow fruit of 
the limes and the plantain’s glossy drooping leaves 
and long curving stalks from which the nimble 
fingers of wild monkeys had plucked the ripe 
bananas. Here and there the ground was open; 
and the path following a natural depression in the 
hills gave down the gradually widening valley a 
view of the panorama of forest and plain lying 
below. 

As they passed a clump of tangled bushes a rustle 
and a pattering over the dry leaves under them 
caught the Colonel’s ear. 

“Look out! Kalej/* he whispered, picking up a 
stone and throwing it into the cover. A large 
speckled black and white bird whirred out; and 
Wargrave brought it down. 

[130] 


IN THE TERM JUNGLE 

“Good shot! There’s another,” called out Der- 
mot, and fired with equal success. “We’re lucky,” 
he continued. “As a rule they won’t break, but 
scuttle along under the bushes, so that one often 
has to shoot them running.” 

Frank picked up the birds and examined them 
with interest before the Colonel stuffed them into 
his game bag and moved on down the path, which 
was growing steeper. The trees became more 
numerous and larger as they descended nearer the 
forest. Out of another clump of bushes the sports- 
men succeeded in getting a second brace of pheas- 
ants. Lower down they passed through a belt of 
bamboos, where in one spot the long feathery 
boughs were broken off or twisted in wild confusion 
for a space of fifty yards’ radius. 

“Wild elephants,” said the Political Officer briefly 
and pointed to a patch of dust in which was the 
round imprint of a huge foot. 

Frank was a little startled; for he felt that against 
these great animals the bullets in their guns would 
be useless. 

“Are they dangerous, sir?” he asked. 

“Not as a rule when they are in a herd, although 
cow-elephants with calves may be so, fearing peril 
for their young. But sometimes a bull takes to a 
solitary life, becomes vicious and developes into al 
dangerous rogue. It probably happens that, finding 
crops growing near a jungle village and raiding them, 

[131] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

he is driven off by the cultivators, turns savage and 
kills some of them. Then he usually seems to take 
a hatred to all human beings and attacks them on 
sight. Hallo I here we are at the peelkhana at last.” 

They had reached the high wooden building 
which housed the three transport elephants of the 
detachment. In the clearing before it Badshah and 
another animal were standing, a group of mahouts 
and coolies near them. 

‘‘We’ll mount and start at once,” said Colonel 
Dermot, beckoning to his elephant, which came to 
him. “Get up, Wargrave.” 

The subaltern looked up doubtfully at the pad on 
Badshah’s back. 

“How can I, sir? Isn’t he going to kneel?” he 
asked. 

“Put your foot on his trunk when he crooks it and 
grab hold of his ears. He’ll lift you up then.” 

The understanding elephant at once curled its trunk 
invitingly and cocked its great ears forward. Frank 
did as he was directed and found himself raised in 
the air until he was able to get on to the elephant’s 
head and from it scrambled on to the pad. Dermot 
followed and seated himself astride the huge neck. 

“Afw// (Go on! )” he ejaculated. 

With a swaying, lurching stride Badshah at once 
moved across the clearing, followed by the transport 
elephant, on to which a mahout and a coolie had 
climbed, and plunged into the dense undergrowth 

[132] 


IN THE TERM JUNGLE 

which was so high that it nearly closed over the 
riders^ heads. The sudden change from the blind- 
ing glare of the sun to the enchanting green gloom 
of the forest, from the intense heat to the refresh- 
ing coolness of the shade, was delightful. 

Beyond the clearing the vegetation was tangled 
and rank, high grass concealing thorny shrubs, tall 
matted bushes covered with large, white, bell-shaped 
flowers, all so dense that men on foot could not push 
their way through. But it divided like water before 
the leading elephant’s weight and strength. The 
trees were now not the lesser growths of bamboo, 
lime and sago-palm that covered the foot-hills. They 
were the great forest giants, enormous teak, sal and 
simal trees, towering up bare of branches for a good 
height above the ground, rising to the green canopy 
overhead and thrusting their leafy crowns through it, 
seeking their share of the sunlight. Their massive 
branches were matted thick with the glossy green 
leaves of orchid-plants and draped with long trails of 
the beautiful mauve and white blossoms of the exotic 
flowers. Hanging from the highest branches or 
swinging between the massive boles creepers of every 
kind rioted in bewildering confusion, a chaos of 
natural cordage, of festooned lianas thick as a liner’s 
hawser, some twisting around each other, others 
coiling about the tree-trunks, biting deep into the 
bark or striving to strangle them in a cruel grip. 
Not even the elephants’ weight and strength could 

[133] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

burst through the stout network of these creepers in 
places. While they tore at the obstructions with 
their trunks it was necessary for their drivers to 
hack through the creepers with their sharp kukris — 
the heavy curved knives carried in their belts and 
similar to the Gurkha’s favourite weapon. 

Here and there the party came upon glades free 
from undergrowth, where in the cool shade of the 
great trees the ground was knee-deep in bracken. 
In one such spot Wargrave’s eye was caught by a 
flash of bright colour, and his rifle went half-way 
to his shoulder, only to be lowered again when he saw 
two samhhur hinds, graceful animals with glossy 
chestnut hides, watching the advancing elephants 
curiously but without fear. For, used to seeing wild 
ones, they did not realise that Badshah and his com- 
panion carried human beings. Their sex saved them 
from the hunters who, leaving them unscathed, 
passed on and plunged into the dense imdergrowth 
on the far side of the clearing. 

The elephants fed continually as they moved 
along. Sweeping up great bunches of grass, tear- 
ing down trails of leafy creepers, breaking off 
branches from the trees, they crammed them all 
impartially into their mouths. Picking up twigs in 
their trunks they used them to beat their sides and 
legs to drive off stinging insects or, snuffing up dust 
from the ground, blew clouds of it along their bellies 
for the same purpose. 

[134] 


IN THE TERM JUNGLE 

Suddenly the Colonel stopped Badshah and 
whispered: 

“There’s a samhhur stag, Wargrave. There, to 
your left in the undergrowth. Have a shot at him.” 

The subaltern looked everywhere eagerly, but in 
the dense tangle could not discern the animal. Like 
all novices in the jungle he directed his gaze too far 
away; and suddenly a dark patch of deep shadow 
in the undergrowth close by materialised itself into 
the black hide of a stag only as it dashed off. It 
had been standing within fifteen paces of the 
elephants, knowing the value of immobility as a 
shield. At last its nerve failed it; and it revealed 
itself by breaking away. But as it fled Colonel 
Dermot’s rifle spoke; and the big deer crumpled up 
and fell crashing through the vegetation to the 
ground. The second elephant’s mahout, a grey- 
bearded Mahommedan, slipped instantly to the earth 
and, drawing his kukri, struggled through the arrest- 
ing creepers and undergrowth to where the stag lay 
feebly moving its limbs. Seizing one horn he per- 
formed the hallal, that is, he cut its throat to let 
blood while there was still life in the animal, mutter- 
ing the short Mussulman creed as he did so. For his 
religion enjoins this hygienic practice — ^borrowed by 
the Prophet from the Mosaic law — to guard against 
long-dead carrion being eaten. At the touch of the 
Colonel’s hand Badshah sank to its knees; and War- 
grave, very annoyed with himself for his slowness 

[135] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

in detecting the deer, forced his way through the 
undergrowth to examine it. The stag was a fine 
beast fourteen hands high, with sharp brow antlers 
and a pair of thick, stunted horns branching at the 
ends into two points. 

Leaving the elephants to graze freely the mahout 
and his coolie disembowelled the sambhur and 
hacked off the head with their heavy kukris. Aided 
by the Political Officer and Wargrave they skinned 
the animal and then with the skill of professional 
butchers proceeded to cut up the carcase into huge 
joints. While they were thus engaged the Colonel 
went to a small, straight-stemmed tree common in 
the jungle and, clearing away a patch of the outer 
mottled bark, disclosed a white inner skin, which he 
cut off in long strips. With these, which formed 
unbreakable cordage, they fastened the heavy joints 
to the pad of the transport elephant. 

When this was done Wargrave, looking at his 
hands covered with blood and grime, said ruefully: 

‘^How on earth are we to get clean, sir? Is there 
any water in the jungle? We haven’t seen any.” 

The Political Officer, looking about him, pointed 
to a thick creeper with withered-seeming bark and 
said with a laugh: 

‘‘There’s your water, Wargrave. Lots of it on tap. 
See here.” 

He cut off a length of the Uanay which contained 
a whitish, pulpy interior. From the two ends of the 
[136] 


IN THE TERM JUNGLE 

piece water began to drip steadily and increased 
to a thin stream. 

George, sir, that^s a plant worth knowing,” 
said Frank. 

^TFs a most useful jungle product,” said the 
Colonel, holding it up so that his companion, using 
clay as soap, could wash his hands. ‘TFs called the 
pant bel — ^water-creeper. One need never die of thirst 
in a forest where it is found. Try the water in it.” 

He raised it so that the clear liquid flowed into the 
subaltern^s mouth. It was cool, palatable and taste- 
less. 

“By George, sir, that’s good,” exclaimed War- 
grave, examining the plant carefully. “Now let me 
hold it for you.” 

After Dermot and the two natives had cleansed 
their hands and arms the party moved on, the trans- 
port elephant looking like an itinerant butcher’s 
shop as it followed Badshah. Again the under- 
growth parted before the great animals like the sea 
cleft by the bows of a ship and closed similarly be- 
hind them when they had passed. Of its own volition 
the leader swerved one side or the other when it was 
necessary to avoid a tree-trunk or too dense a tangle 
of obstructing creepers. But once Dermont touched 
and turned it sharply out of its course to escape 
what seemed a very large lump of clay adhering to 
the under side of an overhanging bough in their path. 

“A wild bees’ nest,” said the Colonel, pointing to 

[137] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

it. ‘Tt wouldn’t do to risk hitting against that and 
being stung to death by its occupants.” 

A few minutes later he suddenly arrested Badshah 
at the edge of a fern-carpeted glade and whispered: 

‘‘Look out! There’s a barking-deer. Get him!” 

Across the glade a graceful little buck with a 
bright chestnut coat stepped daintily, followed at a! 
respectful distance by his doe. Their restless ears 
pointed incessantly this way and that for every warn- 
ing sound as they moved; but neither saw the 
elephants hidden in the undergrowth. Raising his 
rifle Frank took a quick aim at the buck’s shoulder 
and fired. The deer pitched forward and fell dead, 
while its startled mate swung round and leapt wildly 
away. 

“A good shot of yours, Wargrave,” remarked 
Colonel Dermot, when Badshah had advanced to the 
prostrate animal. “Broke its shoulder and pierced 
the heart.” 

Frank looked down pityingly at the pretty little 
deer stretched lifeless among the ferns. 

“It seems a shame to slaughter a harmless thing 
like that,” he said. 

“Yes; I always feel the same myself and never 
kill except for food,” replied the Political Officer. 
“Unless of course it’s a dangerous beast like a tiger. 
Well, the khakur is too dead to hallal; but that 
doesn’t matter, as we’re going to eat it ourselves and 
not give it to the sepoys.” 

[138] 


IN THE TERM JUNGLE 

The mahout and the coolie were already cleaning 
the deer and, without troubling to cut it up, bound 
its legs together with udal fibre and tied it to the 
pad of their elephant; and the party moved on again. 

Half a mile further on the silence of the forest 
was broken by the loud crowing of a cock, taken up 
and answered defiantly by others. 

“Hallo! are we near a village, sir?’’ asked War- 
grave, surprised at the familiar sounds so far in the 
heart of the wild. 

“No; those are jungle-fowl,” whispered the 
Political Officer. “Get your gun ready.” 

He halted the elephant and picked up his fowling- 
piece. Frank hurriedly substituted a shot cartridge 
foi* the one loaded with ball in his gun. He heard a 
pattering on the dry leaves under the trees and into 
^ fairly open space before them stalked a pretty 
little bantam cock with red comb and wattles and 
curving green tail-feathers, followed by four or five 
sober brown hens, so like in every respect to domestic 
fowl that Wargrave hesitated to shoot. But sud- 
denly the birds whirred up into the air; and, as the 
Colonel gave them both barrels, Frank did the same. 
The cock and three of his wives dropped. The 
mahout urged his elephant forward and made the 
reluctant animal pick up the crumpled bunches of 
blood-stained feathers in its curving trunk and pass 
them to him. 

Colonel Dermont searched the jungle for some 

[139] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

distance around but could not find the other jungle- 
cocks that had answered the dead one’s challenge. 
Looking at his watch he suggested a halt for lunch, 
which Wargrave, whose back was beginning to ache 
with fatigue, gladly agreed to. Dismounting, they 
sat on the ground and ate and drank the contents 
of the pockets of Badshah’s pad, but with loaded 
rifles beside them lest their meal should be disturbed 
by any dangerous denizen of the jungle. The two 
natives sat down some distance away and, turning 
their backs on each other, drew out cloths in which 
their mid-day repast of chupatis, or thick pancakes, 
with curry and an onion or two was tied up. The 
elephants left to themselves grazed close by and did 
not attempt to wander away. 

Their meal and a smoke finished the party 
mounted again and moved on. But luck seemed to 
have deserted them. Much to the Political Officer’s 
disappointment they wandered for miles without 
adding anything to the bag. He had calculated on 
getting another couple of samhhur stags to present 
to the Deb Zimpun as food for his hungry followers. 
The route that they were now taking led circuitously 
back towards the peelkhana, which they wished to 
reach before sundown. They had got within a mile 
of it and were close to the foot of the hills when 
Badshah stopped suddenly and smelt the ground. 
Colonel Dermot leaned over the huge head and 
stared down intently at something invisible to his 
young companion. 

[140] 


IN THE TERM JUNGLE 

^‘What is it, sir?’’ asked Wargrave in a whisper. 

“Bison. Badshah’s pointing for ns. We can’t 
shoot them here, for we’re in Government jungle 
where the killing of elephants, bison and rhino is 
forbidden unless they attack you. But the track 
leads north towards the mountains and at their foot 
the Government Forest ends. That’s only half a 
mile away and we can bag them there. Load your 
rifle with solid-nosed bullets. This is the pug (foot- 
print) of a bull, I think.” 

The two natives had seen the tracks by this and 
were wildly excited. Badshah without urging moved 
swiftly through the trees and soon brought his riders 
to the hills and into sight of the sky once more. 
The mountains stood out clear and distinct in the 
slanting rays of the setting sun. Suddenly a loud 
though distant, almost musical bellow sounded, 
seeming to come from a bamboo jungle about a mile 
away. 

“That’s a cow-bison calling,” said Dermot in a 
low voice. “There’s a herd somewhere about; but 
the *pugs* we’re following up are those of a solitary 
bull. We’re in free forest now; so with luck you 
may get your first bison. It’s very steep here; we’ll 
dismount, leave the elephants and go on foot.” 

The subaltern was wildly excited, and his heart 
thumped at a rate that was not caused by the steep 
slope up which he followed Dermot. The Colonel 
tracked the bull unhesitatingly, although to War- 
grave there was no mark to be seen on the ground. 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

They were creeping cautiously through bamboo 
cover on a hill when Dermot, who was leading, 
suddenly threw himself on his face, lay still for a 
minute or two, then, motioning to his companion to 
halt, crawled forward like a snake. A few paces on 
he stopped and beckoned to Wargrave, and, when 
the latter reached him, pointed down into the gully 
below. They were almost on the edge of a descent 
precipitous enough to be called a cliff. Immediately 
underneath by a small stream was a massive black 
bull-bison, eighteen hands — six feet — ^high, with 
short, square head, broad ears and horizontal 
rounded horns. The only touches of colour were on 
the forehead and the legs below the knees, which 
were whitish. The animal, with head thrown back, 
was staring vacantly with its large, slatey-blue eyes. 

Wargrave trembled with excitement and his heart 
beat so violently that the rifle shook as he brought 
it to his shoulder and gently pushed the muzzle 
through the stiff, dry grass at the edge of the cliff. 
But for the one necessary instant he became rigidly 
steady and without a tremor pressed the trigger. 
Then the rifle barrels danced again before his eyes, 
when he saw the great bull collapse on the ground, 
its fore-legs twitching violently, the hind ones mo- 
tionless. 

“Good shot. You’ve broken his spine,” exclaimed 
Dermot, springing to his feet and sliding, scrambling, 
jumping down the steep descent. The excited 

[142] 


IN THE TERAI JUNGLE 

subaltern outstripped him; but before he reached 
the bull it lay motionless, dead. 

‘‘YouVe a lucky young man, Wargrave. A 
splendid bison on your first day in the jungle. Those 
horns are six feet from tip to tip I bet,” and the 
Political Officer held out his hand. 

Frank shook it heartily as he said gratefully: 

‘TVe only you to thank for it, sir. It was ripping 
of you to let me have first shot; and you gave me 
such a sitter that I couldn’t miss. Thank you 
awfully. Colonel.” 

Dermot gave a piercing whistle and stood waiting, 
while the overjoyed subaltern walked round and 
round the dead bison, marvelling at its size and ex- 
claiming at his own good fortune. 

When in a few minutes Badshah appeared, fol- 
lowed by the panting men. Colonel Dermot sent the 
mahout on his elephant to the stable to fetch other 
men to cut up and bring in the bison. Then he and 
Wargrave on Badshah made for the road to Ranga 
Duar. 

It was dark long before they reached the little 
station. The Colonel brought his companion in for 
a drink after the three thousand feet climb, most of 
which they had done on foot. Mrs. Dermot met 
them in the hall; and, after she had heard the result 
of the day’s sport, warmly congratulated Wargrave 
on his good luck. Loud whispers and a scuffle over 
their heads attracted the attention of all three elders, 

[143] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

and on the broad wooden staircase they saw two 
small figures, one in pyjamas, the other in a pretty, 
trailing nightdress daintily tied with blue bows, look- 
ing imploringly down at their mother. She smiled 
and nodded. There was a whirlwind rush down the 
stairs, and the mites were caught up in their father’s 
arms. Then Frank came in for his share of caresses 
from them before they were sternly ordered back to 
bed again. And as he passed out into the darkness 
he carried away with him an enchanting picture of 
the charming babes climbing the stairs hand in hand 
and turning to blow kisses to the tall man who stood 
below with a strong arm around his pretty wife, 
gazing fondly up at his children. 

And the picture stayed with him when, after 
dinner at which he was congratulated by his brother 
officers, he went to his room and found a letter over- 
looked in his rush to dress for Mess. It was from 
Violet, the first that had come from her since his 
arrival in Ranga Duar. It breathed passion and 
longing, discontent and despair, in every line. As 
he laid his face on his arm to shut out the light 
where he sat at the table he felt that he was nearer 
to loving the absent woman than he had ever been. 
For the vision of the Dermots’ married happiness, 
of the deep affection linking husband and wife, of the 
children climbing the stair and smiling back at their 
parents, came vividly to him. And it haunted him in 
his sleep when in dreams tiny arms were clasped 
around his neck and baby lips touched his lovingly. 

[144] 


CHAPTER VIII 


A GIRL OF THE FOREST 

From the frontier of Bhutan, six thousand feet up 
on the face of the mountains, a line of men wound 
down the serpentining track that led to Ranga Duar. 
At their head walked a stockily-built man with 
cheery Mongolian features, wearing a white cloth 
garment, ^iwowo-shaped and kilted up to give free- 
dom to the sturdy bare thighs and knees — ^the legs 
and feet cased in long, felt-soled boots. It was the 
Deb Zimpun, the Envoy of the independent Border 
State of Bhutan. Behind him came a tall man in 
khaki tunic, breeches, puttees and cap, his breast 
covered with bright-coloured ribbons. His uniform 
was similar to the British; but his face was unmis- 
takeably Chinese, as were those of the twenty tall, 
khaki-clad soldiers armed with magazine rifles at his 
heels. They were followed by three or four score 
Bhutanese swordsmen, thick-set and not unlike 
Gurkhas in feature, with bare heads, legs and feet, 
and clad only in a single garment similar to their 
leader’s and kilted up by a cord around the waist, 
from which hung a dah^ a short sword or long knife. 
In rear of them trudged a number of coolies, some 
laden with bundles, others with baskets of fruit. 

[145] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

Where the track came out on the bare shoulder 
of a spur free from the small trees and undergrowth 
clothing the mountains the Deb Zimpun pointed to 
the roofs of the buildings in the little station a 
thousand feet below them and hitherto invisible to 
them. 

‘^That is Ranga; Duar,” he said briefly. The 
Chinaman behind him looked down at it. 

“It seems a very small and weak place to have 
stopped our invading troops in the war,” he said in 
Bhutanese. “So here lives the Man.” 

“The Man? Yes, perhaps he is a man. But 
many, very many, there be that think him a god or 
devil. They say he can call up a horde of demons 
in the form of elephants. With such he trampled 
your army into the earth. 

“Devils? Leave such tales to lamas and the 
ignorant fools that believe their teaching. But if 
even a part of what I have heard about this man be 
true he is more dangerous than many devils. He 
stands in China^s way, and he who does shall be 
swept aside.” 

“He is my friend,” said the Deb Zimpun shortly, 
and tramped on in silence. 

Before they reached the station they were met by 
two of the Political Officer’s men, Bhuttias resident 
in British territory, detailed to receive and guide 
them to the Government Dak Bungalow in which 
the Deb Zimpun and as many of his followers as 
[146] 


A GIRL OF THE FOREST 


could crowd into it were to reside during their stay. 
Arrived at it the long line filed into the compound. 

Half a mile away down the hill Colonel Dermot 
and Wargrave watched them through their field- 
glasses. 

‘‘Who is that fellow in khaki uniform, sir?” asked 
the subaltern. 

The Political Officer lowered his binoculars and 
laughed. 

“A gentlemen IVe been very anxious to meet. 
He’s the Chinese Amhan — ^we call him an Envoy of 
the Republic of China to Bhutan. But the Chinese 
themselves prefer to regard him as a representative 
of the suzerainty they pretend to exercise over the 
country. I’m curious to see him. He is a product 
of the times, an example of the modern Celestial, 
educated at Heidelberg University and Oxford, 
speaking German, French and English. He has 
been specially chosen by his Government to come 
to a Buddhist land, as he is a son of the abbot of the 
Yellow Lama Temple in Pekin and so might have 
influence with the Bhutanese by reason of his con- 
nection with their religion.” 

“But what have the Chinese to do with Bhutan?” 

“Nothing now. But they’ve been intriguing for 
years to re-establish the suzerainty they once had 
over it. This Amban, Yuan Shi Hung by name, is 
a clever, unscrupulous and particularly dangerous 
individual.” 


[147] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

‘^You seem to know a lot about him, Colonel.” 

“It^s my business to do so. There is no apparent 
reason for his coming here with the Deb Zimpun, 
nor has he a right to. But I won’t object, for I 
want to study and size him up. By the way, the 
Envoy will make his official call on me this morning. 
Would you like to be present?” 

“Very much indeed. I’m always interested in see- 
ing the various races of India and learning all I can 
about them. I’d love a job like yours, sir, going 
into out-of-the-way places and dealing with strange 
peoples.” 

“Would you?” The Political Officer looked at 
him thoughtfully. “Are you good at picking up 
native languages?” 

“Fairly so. I got through my Lower and Higher 
Standard Hindustani first go and have passed in 
Marathi and taken the Higher Standard, Persian.” 

Colonel Dermot regarded him critically and then 
said abruptly: 

“Come to my office a few minutes before eleven. 
That’s the hour I’ve fixed for the Deb Zimpun^s 
visit.” 

Punctually at the time named Wargrave reached 
the Dermots’ bungalow, on the road outside which, 
a Guard of Honour of fifty sepoys under an Indian 
officer was drawn up. Passing along the verandah 
he entered the office and saluted the Colonel who, 
seated at his desk, looked up and nodded for him to 
[148] 


A GIRL OF THE FOREST 

be seated and then returned to the despatch that he 
was writing. 

In a few minutes a confused murmur drew nearer 
down the road and was stilled by the sharp words 
of command to the Guard of Honour and by the ring 
of rifles brought to the present in salute. Over the 
low wall of the garden appeared the heads and 
shoulders of the Envoy and his Chinese companion, 
followed by a train of attendants and swordsmen. 
They passed in through the gate. The Political 
Offlcer rose as the Deh Zimpun, removing his cap, 
entered the office and rushed towards him. The 
bullet-headed, cheery old gentleman beamed with 
pleasure as they shook hands and greeted each other 
in Bhutanese. Wargrave marvelled at the ease and 
fluency with which Colonel Dermot spoke the 
language. The Amban now entered the room and 
was formally presented by the Deb Zimpun, 

Speaking in excellent English but with an accent 
that showed that he had first acquired it in Germany, 
he said: 

‘T am very pleased to meet you, Colonel. I have 
heard much of you in Bhutan.’^ 

^Tt gives me equal pleasure to make Your Ex- 
cellency’s acquaintance and to welcome you to 
India,” replied Dermot with a bow. 

Then in his turn Wargrave was presented to the 
two Asiatics, and the Envoy, calling an attendant 
in, took from him two white scarves of Chinese silk 

[149] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

and placed one round each officer’s neck in the 
custom known as ^^khattag^ All sat down and the 
Envoy plunged into an animated conversation with 
Colonel Dermot, first producing a metal box and 
taking betel-nut from it to chew, while the attendant 
placed a spittoon conveniently near him. 

Yuan Shi Hung chatted in English with Wargrave, 
who was astonished to find him a well-educated man 
of the world and thoroughly conversant with 
European politics, art and letters. But for the in- 
scrutable yellow face the subaltern could have be- 
lieved himself to be talking to an able Continental 
diplomat. The contrast between the semi-savage 
Bhutanese official and his companion, in whom the 
most modern civilised gentleman’s manners were 
successfully grafted on the old-time courtesy of the 
Chinese aristocrat, was very striking. The old 
Envoy was a frank barbarian. He laughed loudly 
and clapped his hands in glee when Colonel Dermot 
presented him with a gramophone — ^which, it ap- 
peared, he had longed for ever since seeing one on a 
previous visit to India — ^and taught him how to 
work it. He showed his betel-stained teeth in an 
ecstatic grin when a record was turned on and 
from the trumpet came the Political Officer’s famil- 
iar voice addressing him by name and in his own 
language with many flourishes of Oriental com- 
pliment. 

Towards the termination of their call the Deh 

[150] 


A GIRL OF THE FOREST 

Zimpun called in two attendants wtih large baskets 
of fine blood oranges and walnuts from Bhutan and 
presented them in return. A number of coolies were 
needed to carry off the royal gift of the flesh of the 
bison, the sight of which made the Envoy’s eyes 
glisten. He shook Wargrave’s hand warmly when 
he learned to whose rifle he owed it. Then he and 
his Chinese companion took their leave, and with 
their followers passed up the hilly road. Wargrave, 
gazing after them, came to the conclusion that of 
the pair he preferred the savage to the ultra- 
cultivated Celestial. 

Having thanked the Colonel for permitting him 
to be present at the interview, which had interested 
him greatly, the subaltern was about to leave when 
Mrs. Dermot appeared at the office door. 

^^May I come in, Kevin?” she began. “Oh, good 
morning, Mr. Wargrave. I was just sending a chit 
(letter) to you and Captain Burke asking you to 
tea this afternoon. A coolie has arrived from the 
peelkhana to say that Mr. and Miss Benson and Mr. 
Carter are on their way up and will be here soon. 
So you’ll meet them at tea. You will like Miss Ben- 
son. She’s a dear girl.” 

“Thanks very much, Mrs. Dermot. I’ll be 
delighted to come, if you’ll forgive me should I be 
a little late. I’ve got to take the signallers’ parade 
this afternoon. I’ll tell Burke when I get to the 
Mess. I’m going straight there now.” 

[151] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

‘‘Thank you. That will save me v/riting. Au 
revoir” 

Half-way up the road to the Mess Wargrave 
looked back and saw an elephant heave into sight 
around a bend below the Dermots’ house and plod 
heavily up to their gate. On the charjama — the 
passenger-carrying contrivance of wooden seats on 
the pad with footboards hanging by short ropes — 
sat a lady and two European men holding white 
umbrellas up to keep off the vertical rays of the 
noonday sun. When the animal sank to its knees 
in front of the bungalow Wargrave saw the girl — 
it could only be Miss Benson — spring lightly to the 
ground before either of her companions could dis- 
mount and offer to help her. Her big sunhat hid 
her face, and at that distance Wargrave could only 
see that she was small and slight, as she walked up 
the garden path. 

When the signallers’ afternoon practice was over 
the subaltern passed across the parade ground to the 
Political Officer’s house. When he entered the pretty 
drawing-room, bright with the gay colours of chintz 
curtains and cushions, he found the strangers 
present, one man talking to Mrs. Dermot at her tea- 
table, the other chatting with the Colonel, while 
Burke was installed beside a girl seated in a low 
cane chair and dressed in a smart, hand-embroidered 
Tussore silk dress, suede shoes and silk stockings. 
Little Brian stood beside her with one arm 
[152] 


A GIRL OF THE FOREST 

affectionately round her neck, while Eileen was 
perched in her lap. But when Frank appeared the 
mite wriggled down to the floor and rushed to him. 

The subaltern was presented to Miss Benson, her 
father and Carter, the Sub-Divisional Officer or Civil 
Service official of the district. When he sat down 
Eileen clambered on to his knee and seriously 
interfered with his peaceful enjoyment of his tea; 
but while he talked to her he was watching 
Miss Benson over the small golden head. She 
was astonishingly pretty, with silky black hair 
curving in natural waves, dark-bordered Irish grey 
eyes fringed with long, thick lashes, a rose-tinted 
complexion, a pouting, red-lipped mouth and a small 
nose with the most fascinating, provoking suspicion 
of a tip-tilt. She was as small and daintily-fashioned 
as her hostess; and Wargrave thought it marvellous 
that their forgotten outpost on the face of the 
mountains should hold two such pretty women at 
the same time. His comrade Burke was evidently 
acutely conscious of Muriel Benson’s attractions, 
and, his pleasantly ugly face aglow with a happy 
smile, he was flirting as openly and outrageously 
with her as she with him. 

‘^Sure, it’s a cure for sore eyes ye are. Miss Flower 
Face,” he said. ‘‘That’s the name I christened her 
with the first moment I saw her, Wargrave. Doesn’t 
it fit her?” Then turning to the girl again, he con- 
tinued, “Aren’t you ashamed av yourself for laving 

[153] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

me to pine for a sight av ye all these weary months?’^ 

Miss Benson could claim to be Irish on her 
mother’s side and so was a ready-witted match for 
the doctor’s Celtic exuberance; though to Wargrave 
watching it seemed that Burke’s easy banter cloaked 
a deeper feeling. 

Drawn into their conversation Frank found the 
girl to be natural and unaffected, without a trace of 
conceit, gifted with a keen sense of humour and 
evidently as full of the joy of living as a school- 
boy. He thought her laugh delightfully musical, 
and it was frequently and readily evoked by Burke’s 
droll remarks or the quaint oracular sayings from 
the self-possessed elf on Wargrave’s knee. Her 
admiration of and genuine affection for Mrs. 
Dermot was very evident when Noreen joined their 
group. 

The subaltern, covertly and critically observing 
her, could hardly believe the tales which their hostess 
had previously told him of the courage and ability 
that this small and dainty girl had frequently shown. 
But only a few minutes’ conversation with her father 
convinced Frank that he was an amiably weak and 
incompetent individual, more fitted to be a recluse 
and a bookworm than a roamer in wild jungles where 
his work brought him in contact with strange peoples 
and constant danger. It was evident that the reputa- 
tion which his large section of the Terai Forest bore 
as being well managed and efficiently run was not due 

[154] 


A GIRL OF THE FOREST 

to him and that somebody more capable had the 
handling of the work. Hardly had Wargrave come 
to this conclusion and begun to believe that the 
stories that he had heard of the daughter’s business 
ability and powers of organisation were true when 
he was given a very convincing proof of her courage 
and coolness in danger. 

After tea, as the sun was nearing its setting and a 
deliciously cool breeze blew down from the 
mountains, a move was made to the garden, where 
the party sat in a circle and chatted. When evening 
came and the dusk rose up from the world below, 
blotting out the light lingering on the hills, Mrs. 
Dermot made her children say good-night to the 
company and bore them reluctant away to their 
beds. As the darkness deepened the servants 
brought out a small table and placed a lamp on it, 
and by its light carried round drinks to the men 
of the party. Miss Benson was leaning back in a 
cane chair and chatting lazily with Burke, who sat 
beside her. She had one shapely silk-clad leg crossed 
over the other, and a small foot resting on the grass. 
Opposite her sat Colonel Dermot and Wargrave. As 
the brilliant tropic stars came out in the velvety 
blackness of the sky occasional silences fell on the 
party. A tale of Burke’s was interrupted by the 
Political Officer’s voice, saying in a quiet forceful 
tone: 

‘^Miss Benson, please do not move your foot. 

[155] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

Remain perfectly still. A snake is passing under 
your chair. Steady, Burke! Keep still!” 

There was a terror-stricken hush. Frank looked 
across in horror. The lamplight barely showed in 
the shadow under the chair a deadly hill-viper writh- 
ing its way out within a few inches of the small 
foot firmly planted in its dainty, high-heeled shoe. 
He looked at the motionless girl. Less pale than 
the men about her she sat quietly, smiling faintly 
and apparently not frightened by the Death almost 
touching her. One pink hand lay without a tremor 
in her lap, but the other rested on the arm of her 
chair and the knuckles showed white as the fingers 
gripped the bamboo tightly. She did not even glance 
down. But the men, frozen with dread, watched 
the shadowy writhing line passing her foot slowly, 
all too slowly, until it had wriggled out into the 
centre of the circle of motionless beings. Then 
Colonel Dermot sprang up. Seizing his light bamboo 
chair in his powerful grip he whirled it aloft and 
brought it crashing down on the viper, shattering 
the chair but smashing the reptile’s spine in half a 
dozen places. 

The other men had risen from their seats; but the 
girl remained seated and said quietly: 

^‘Thank you very much. Colonel, for warning me. 
I might easily have moved my foot and trodden on 
the snake. I’ve seen so many of the horrid things 
in camp lately. Now, Captain Burke, I’m sorry 
[156] 


A GIRL OF THE FOREST 

that the interruption spoiled your story. Please go 
on with it.’’ 

Her coolness silenced the men, who were breaking 
into exclamations of relief and congratulation. Even 
her father sat down again calmly. 

But Burke’s enthusiastic admiration of her 
courage found an outlet at Mess that night when he 
recoimted the adventure to Major Hunt and appealed 
to Wargrave for confirmation of the story of her 
plucky behaviour. Later in his room as he was 
going to bed Frank smiled at the recollection of the 
Irishman’s exuberant expressions; but he confessed 
to himself that the girl’s calm courage was worthy 
of every praise. 

^‘She is certainly brave,” he thought. “I’m not 
surprised at old Burke’s infatuation. She is 
decidedly pretty. What lovely eyes she’s got — and 
what a provokingly attractive little nose! Well, 
the doctor’s a lucky man if she marries him. She 
seems awfully nice. Violet will certainly have two 
very charming women friends in the station if she 
hits it off with them.” 

But as his eyes rested on her pictured face his 
heart misgave him; for he remembered that she had 
little liking for her own sex. And then, he told him- 
self, these two would probably refuse to know a 
woman who had run away from her husband to 
another man. When he had turned out the light 
and jumped into bed he lay awake a long time 

[157] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

puzzling over the tangle into which the threads of 
her life and his seemed to have got. Time alone 
could unravel it. 

He tossed uneasily on his bed, unable to sleep, and 
presently a slight noise on the verandah outside 
caught his ear. He lay still and listened; and it 
seemed to him that soft footfalls of a large animaFs 
pads sounded on the wooden flooring. Then sud- 
denly he heard a beast sniffing at his closed door. 
“A stray dog,’’ he thought. But suddenly he 
remembered Burke’s account of the panther that 
haunted the Mess; and a thrill of excitement ran 
through him and drove all his unhappy thoughts 
away. He sprang out of bed and rushed across the 
room to get his rifle, but in the darkness overturned 
a chair which fell with a crash to the ground. This 
scared the animal; for there was a sudden scurry 
outside, and by the time Wargrave had found the 
rifle and groped for a couple of cartridges there 
was nothing to be seen on the verandah when he 
threw open the door. It was a brilliant star-lit night. 
Burke called to him from his room and when War- 
grave went to him said that he too had heard the 
animal, which was undoubtedly the panther. 

Returning to bed Frank was dropping off to sleep 
half an hour later when he was startled by a shrill, 
agonised shriek coming from a distance. Rifle in 
hand he rushed out on to the verandah again and 
heard faint shouts coming from a small group of 

[158] 


A GIRL OF THE FOREST 


Bhuttia huts on a shoulder of the hills hundreds of 
feet above the Mess. He called out but got no 
answer; and after listening for some time and 
hearing nothing further he returned to bed and at 
last fell asleep. In the morning he learned that the 
panther had made a daring raid on a hut and carried 
off a Bhuttia wood-cutter^s baby from its sleeping 
mother^s side, and had devoured it in the jungle not 
two hundred yards away. 

The Durbar, or official ceremony of the public 
reception of the Bhutan Envoy and the paying over 
to him of the annual subsidy of a hundred thousand 
rupees, was held in a marquee on the parade ground 
in the afternoon. There was a Guard of Honour of 
a hundred sepoys to salute, first the Political Officer 
and afterwards the Deb Zimpun when he arrived on 
a mule at the head of his swordsmen and coolies. 
The solemnity of his dignified greeting to Colonel 
Dermot was somewhat spoiled by shrieks of delight 
and loud remarks from Eileen (who was seated 
beside her mother in the marquee) at the stately 
appearance of the Envoy. He was attired in a very 
voluminous red Chinese silk robe embroidered in 
gold and wearing a peculiar gold-edged cap shaped 
like a papal tiara. 

The Political Officer’s official dinner took place 
that evening at his bungalow. Besides the officers 
and the three European visitors the Deb Zimpun and 
the Amban were present. The latter wore con- 

[159] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

ventional evening dress cut by a London tailor, with 
the stars and ribands of several orders. But the old 
Envoy in his flowing red silk robe completely out- 
shone the two ladies, although Miss Benson was 
wearing her most striking frock. 

“Sure, don’t we look like a State Banquet at 
Buckingham Palace or a charity dinner at the 
Dublin Mansion House?” said Burke, looking 
around the company gathered about the oval dining- 
table. He was seated beside Miss Benson, who was 
on the host’s right and facing the Amban on his 
left. 

At the Durbar Wargrave had noticed that the 
Chinaman stared all the time at the girl, and now 
during the meal he seemed to devour her with an 
unpleasant gaze, gloating over the beauties of her 
bared shoulders and bosom until she became un- 
comfortably conscious of it herself. The unveiled 
flesh of a white woman is peculiarly attractive to the 
Asiatic, the better-class females of whose race are 
far less addicted to the public exposure of their 
charms than are European ladies. While the Deb 
Zimpun touched nothing but water the Amban 
drank champagne, port and liqueurs freely — even 
the untravelled Chinaman is partial to European 
liquors — ^yet they seemed not to affect him. But his 
slanted eyes burned all the more fiercely as their 
gaze was fixed on the girl opposite him. 

He endeavoured to engage her in conversation 
[i6o] 


A GIRL OF THE FOREST 

across the table, and appeared ready to resent 
anyone else intervening in the talk as he dilated on 
the gaieties and pleasures of life in London, Berlin 
and Paris, where he had been attached to the Chinese 
Embassies. He glared at Burke when the doctor 
persisted in mentioning the panther^s visit during 
the previous night, for the conversation at their end 
of the table then turned on sport. A chance remark 
of Miss Benson on tiger-shooting made Wargrave 
ask: 

‘‘Have you shot tigers, too, like Mrs. Dermot? 
And IVe never seen one outside a cage I 

The girl smiled, and the Colonel answered for her. 

“Miss Benson has got at least six. Seven, is it? 
More than my wife has. And among them was the 
famous man-eater of Mardhura, which had killed 
twenty-three persons. The natives of the district 
call her ‘The Tiger Girl.^ 

“Troth, my name for you is a prettier one. Miss 
Benson,” said Burke laughing. 

She made a moue at him, but said to the subaltern: 

“Cheer up, Mr. Wargrave, you’ve lots of time 
before you yet. You oughtn’t to complain — ^you’ve 
only been a few days here and you’ve already got a 
splendid bison. And they’re rare in these parts.” 

“We’ll have to find him a tiger, Muriel,” said their 
host. “When you hear of a kill anywhere con- 
veniently near, let me know and we’ll arrange a beat 
for him.” 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

“With pleasure, Colonel. We’re soon going to the 
southern fringe of the forest; and, as you know, 
there are usually tigers to be found in the nullahs 
on the borders of the cultivated country. I’ll send 
you khubber (news).” 

“Thank you very much,” said Wargrave. “I do 
want to get one.” 

All through the conversation the girl felt the 
Chinaman’s bold eyes seeming to burn her flesh, 
and she was glad when the Political Officer spoke to 
him and engaged his attention. And she was still 
more relieved when dinner ended and Mrs. Dermot 
rose to leave the table. When the men joined them 
later on the verandah Burke and Wargrave made a 
point of hemming her in on both sides and keeping 
the Amban off; for even the short-sighted doctor had 
become cognisant of the Chinaman’s offensive stare. 

When he and the Deb Zimpun had left the 
bungalow she said to the two officers: 

“I’m so glad you didn’t let that awful man come 
near me. He makes me afraid. There’s something 
so evil about him that I shudder when he looks 
at me.” 

“The curse av the crows on the brute 1” exclaimed 
Burke hotly. “Don’t ye be afraid. We won’t let 
the divil come next or nigh ye, will we, Wargrave?” 

And on the following day when the visitors were 
entertained by athletic sports of the detachment on 
the parade ground and an interesting archery 
[162] 


A GIRL OF THE FOREST 


competition between excited teams of the Deb 
Zimpun^s followers and of local Bhuttias, they 
allowed the Amban no oppportunity of approaching 
her. During the sports Wargrave noticed on one 
occasion that he seemed to be speaking of her to the 
commander of his escort of Chinese soldiers, a tall, 
evil-faced Manchu, pock-marked and blind of the 
right eye, who stared at her fixedly for some time. 
At the dinner at the Mess that night the two ladies 
wore frocks that were very little dicollet i, Burke, 
as Mess President, had arranged the table so that 
the Amban was as far away from them as possible;' 
and Wargrave and he mounted guard over Miss 
Benson when the meal was ended. 

The Deb Zimpun had fixed his departure for an 
early hour on the following morning and was to be 
accompanied by the Political Officer, who was going 
to visit the Maharajah of Bhutan. In the course of 
the day the Chinese Amban had announced to 
Colonel Dermot that he did not wish to leave so soon 
and desired to remain longer in Ranga Duar; but the 
Political Officer courteously but very firmly told him 
that he must go with the Envoy. 

Early next morning, while Noreen Dermot was 
occupied with her children, and her husband was 
completing his preparations for departure, Muriel 
Benson went out into the garden. Badshah, pad 
strapped on ready for the road, was standing at one 
side of the bungalow swinging his trunk and shifting 
[163] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

from foot to foot as he patiently awaited his master. 
The girl greeted and petted him, then went to gather 
flowers and cut bunches of bright-coloured leaves 
from high bushes of bougainvillea and poinsettia 
that hid her from view from the house. 

Suddenly a harsh voice sounded in her ears. 

‘T have tried to speak to you alone, but those fools 
were ever in my way. Do not cry out. You must 
listen to me.’’ 

She started violently and turned to find the 
"Amban, dressed in khaki and ready to march, behind 
her. Courageous as she usually was the extra- 
ordinary repulsion and terror with which he inspired 
her kept her silent as he continued: 

^‘1 want you, and I shall take you sooner or later. 
Listen! I am one of the richest men in all China. 
One day I shall be President — and then Emperor 
the next; and when I rule my country shall no longer 
be the effete, despised land torn with dissension that 
it is now. I can give you everything that the heart 
of a woman, white or yellow, can desire — take you 
from your dull, poverty-stricken life to raise you to 
power and immense wealth. I shall return for you 
one day. Will you come to me?” 

The girl drew back, pale as death and unable to 
cry out. He glanced around. The tall, red-leaved 
bushes hid them; there was no one or nothing within 
sight, except the elephant shifting restlessly. 

“Answer me!” he said almost menacingly. 

[164] 


A GIRL OF THE FOREST 

She was silent. He sprang forward and seized her 
roughly. 

‘‘Speak! You must answer/^ he said. 

The girl shrank at his touch and struggled in 
vain in his powerful grasp. 

Then suddenly she cried out: 

“Badshah!” 

The Chinaman thrust his face, inflamed with 
passion and desire, close to hers. 

“You must, you shall, come to me — by force, if 
not willingly,” he growled. “By all the gods or 
devils 

But at that instant he was plucked from her by a 
resistless force and hurled violently to the ground. 
Dazed and half-stunned he looked up and saw 
the elephant standing over him with one colossal 
foot poised over his prostrate body, ready to 
crush him to pulp. Brave as the Chinaman was 
he trembled with terror at the imminent, awful 
death. 

But a quiet voice sounded clear through the 
garden. 

do! (Let him go!)” 

The elephant brought the threatening foot to the 
ground but stood, with curled trunk and ears cocked 
forward, ready to annihilate him if the invisible 
speaker gave the word. The girl shrank against the 
great animal, clinging to it and looking with horror 
at the prostrate man. The Amban slowly dragged 

[165] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

his bruised body from the ground and staggered 
shaken and dizzy out of the garden. 

Muriel kissed the soft trunk and laid her cheek 
against it, and it curved to touch her hair with a 
gentle caress. Then she fled into the bungalow to 
find Colonel Dermot on the verandah grimly watch- 
ing the Chinaman stumbling blindly up the steep 
road. His wife beside him opened her arms to the 
shaken girl. 

^‘He shall pay for that some day, Muriel,” said 
the Political Officer sternly. “But not yet.” 

An hour later the two women watched the snaking 
line crawl up the steep face of the mountains, and 
through field-glasses they could distinguish Badshah 
with his master on his neck, the Deh Zimpun and 
his followers and the tall form of the Chinaman, 
until all vanished from sight in the trees clothing the 
upper hills. 

Benson and Carter left that afternoon, Muriel 
remaining to spend a longer time with her friend 
and, as she told Wargrave, to try and regain the 
affections of the children which he had stolen from 
her. 

Frank was thinking of her next day as he was 
standing on the Mess verandah after tea, cleaning 
his fowling-piece, when on a wooded spur running 
down from the mountains and sheltering the little 
station on the west he heard a jungle-cock crowing 
in the undergrowth not four hundred yards away. 

[i66] 


A GIRL OF THE FOREST 

Seizing a handful of cartridges he loaded his gun 
and, running down the steps and across the garden, 
plunged into the jungle. He walked cautiously, his 
rope-soled boots enabling him to move silently, and 
stopped occasionally to listen for the bird^s crow or 
the telltale pattering over the dried leaves. Peering 
into the undergrowth and searching the ground he 
crept quietly forward. Suddenly his heart seemed to 
leap to his throat. In a patch of dust he saw the un- 
mistakable pug (footprint) of a large panther. One 
claw had indented a new-fallen leaf, showing that 
the animal had very recently passed. Wargrave 
halted and thought hard. He had only his shot- 
gun, but the sun was near its setting and if he 
returned to the Mess to get his rifle — ^which was 
taken to pieces and locked up in its case — darkness 
would probably fall before he could overtake the 
panther, which was possibly moving on ahead of him. 
So he resolved not to turn back, but opened the 
breech of his gun and extracted the cartridges. 
With his knife he cut their thick cases almost 
through all round at the wad, dividing the powder 
from the shot. For he knew that thus treated and 
fired the whole upper portion of the cartridges would 
be shot out of the barrels like solid bullets and carry 
forty yards without breaking up and scattering the 
shot. 

Reloading he advanced cautiously, frequently 
losing and refinding the trail. Creeping through d 
[167] * 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

clump of thin bushes he stopped suddenly, frozen 
with horror and dread. 

In an open patch of woodland the two Dermot 
children stood by a tree, the girl huddled against 
the trunk, while the little boy had placed himself in 
front of her and, with a small stick in his hand, was 
bravely facing in her defence an animal crouching 
on the ground not twenty yards away. It was a 
large panther. Belly to earth, tail lashing from side 
to side, it was crawling slowly, imperceptibly nearer 
its prey. With ears flattened against the skull and 
lips drawn back to bare the gleaming fangs in a 
devilish grin it snarled at the brave child whose 
dauntless attitude doubtless puzzled it. 

‘^Don’t cry, Eileen. I won’t let it hurt you,” said 
the little boy encouragingly. ^‘Go ’way, nasty dog! ” 

He raised his little stick above his head. A boy 
should always protect a girl, his father had often 
said, so he was not going to let the beast harm his 
tiny sister. The panther crouched lower. The 
watcher in the bushes saw the powerful limbs gather- 
ing under the spotted body for the fatal spring. 
Every muscle and sinew was tense for the last rush 
and leap, as the subaltern raised his gun. 


CHAPTER IX 


TIGER LAND 

Wargrave fired. His shot struck the panther 
rather far back, wounding but not disabling it. It 
swimg round to face its assailant. Seeing Frank it 
promptly charged. The second cartridge took it in 
front of the shoulder and raked its body from end 
to end. Coughing blood the beast rolled over and 
over, biting its paws, clawing savagely at the earth, 
trying to rise and falling back in fury, while Frank 
rapidly reloaded and stepped between it and the 
children. But the convulsions became fewer and less 
violent, the limbs stiffened, the beautiful black and 
yellow body sank inert to the ground. The tail 
twitched a little. A few tremors shook the panther. 
Then it lay still. 

The subaltern turned eagerly to the children. 

‘Tt’s Frank. Look, Eileen, it^s Frank,^’ cried 
Brian. ^‘He^s killed the nasty dog.’’ 

The little girl, who had sunk to the ground, 
struggled to her feet and with her brother was swept 
up in a joyous embrace by the subaltern. Then, 
bidding the boy hold on to the sleeve of the arm 
carrying the gun, Wargrave started back with Eileen 
perched on his shoulder. As they passed the 
panther’s body she looked down at it ^d dapped her 
hands. 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

^‘He’s deaded. Nasty, bad dog I she cried. 

Striking a path through the undergrowth the 
subaltern climbed down the steep ravine that lay 
between the hill and the Political Officer’s bungalow. 
As he struggled up the steep side of the nullah he 
heard their mother calling the children with a note 
of inquietude in her voice; and he answered her with 
a reassuring shout. Coming up on the level behind 
the low stone wall of the garden he found Mrs. 
Dermot and Muriel anxiously awaiting him. 

‘^Mumsie! Hallo, Mumsie! Here’s me. Fwank 
shooted bad dog,” cried Eileen, waving her arms and 
kicking her bearer violently in her excitement. 

^^Yes, Mumsie, Frank killded the nasty dog that 
wanted to eat us,” added Brian. 

Wargrave passed the children over the wall into 
the anxious arms outstretched for them, then vaulted 
into the garden. 

‘What has happened, Mr. Wargrave?” asked Mrs. 
Dermot, pressing her children to her nervously. 
“What is this about your shooting a dog?” 

The subaltern told the story briefly. 

“Oh, my babies! My babies!” cried the mother 
with tears in her eyes, clasping the mites to her 
breast and kissing them frantically. The little 
woman who had many times faced death un- 
dauntedly at her husband’s side broke down utterly 
at the thought of her children’s peril. 

She overwhelmed Wargrave with her thanks, 
[170] 


TIGER LAND 


while Muriel complimented him on his promptness 
and presence of mind and then scolded the urchins 
for their disobedience in wandering away from the 
garden by themselves. But the unrepentant pair 
smiled genially at her from the shelter of their 
mother’s arms and assured her that “Fwankie” 
would always take care of them. Their mother, even 
when she grew more composed, could not be severe 
after so nearly losing them; but although unwilling 
to terrify them by a recital of the awful fate from 
which the subaltern had saved them by the merest 
chance, she impressed upon them again and again 
her oft-repeated warning that they must never leave 
the garden alone. 

But they were not awed; so, bidding them thank 
and kiss him, she bore them off to bed, her eyes 
still full of tears. 

Wargrave sent a servant to fetch his orderly and 
the detachment mo chi y or cobbler, to skin the 
panther, the news of the death of which soon spread. 
So Major Hunt and Burke joined Miss Benson and 
the subaltern when they went to look at its body, 
and numbers of sepoys streamed up from the Fort 
to view the animal, which had long been notorious in 
the station. Lamps had to be brought to finish the 
skinning of it; and the hide, when taken off, was 
carried in triumph to the Mess compound to be 
cured. 

On the following afternoon on the tennis-court in 

[171] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

a corner of the parade ground Miss Benson was left 
with Burke and Wargrave when Mrs. Dermot had 
taken her children home at sunset. 

‘‘You’ve completely won her heart,” the girl said 
to the subaltern, pointing with her racquet to the 
disappearing form of her friend. “Nothing’s too 
good for you for saving these precious mites. But 
she’ll never let them out of her sight again until their 
big nurse returns.” 

“You mean their elephant? Well, of course he’s 
a marvellously well-trained animal; but is he really 
so reliable that he can always be trusted to look 
after those children?” 

“Badshah is something very much more than a 
well-trained animal. Perhaps some time out in the 
jungle you may understand why the natives regard 
him as sacred and call Colonel Dermot the ‘God of 
.the Elephants.' You don’t know Badshah as we 
do.” 

“Well, old Burke here has told me some strange 
yarns about him. But, as he’s always pulling my 
leg, I never know when to believe him.” 

The doctor grinned. 

“We won't waste words on him. Captain Burke,” 
said the girl. “It’s time to go home now.” 

They escorted her to the Dermots’ bungalow, 
where the doctor lingered for a few more minutes 
in her society, while Wargrave climbed up to the 
Mess and went to look at the panther’s skin pegged 
[172] 


TIGER LAND 


out on the ground under a thick coating of ashes 
and now as hard as a board after a day^s exposure 
to the burning sun. 

A few days later Miss Benson left the station to 
rejoin her father in one of the three or four isolated 
wooden bungalows built to accommodate the Forest 
Officer in different parts of his district, each one lost 
and lonely in the silent jungle. For days after her 
departure Burke was visibly depressed; and War- 
grave, too, missed the bright and attractive girl who 
had enlivened the quiet little station during her stay. 

A fortnight later Colonel Dermot returned from 
Bhutan; and his gratitude to the subaltern for the 
rescue of his children was sincere and heart-felt. He 
was only too glad to take the young man out into the 
jungle on every possible occasion and continue his 
instruction in the ways of the forest. This com- 
panionship and the sport were particularly bene- 
ficial to Wargrave just then. For they served to 
take him out of himself and raise him from the 
state of depression into which he was falling, thanks 
to Violet^s letters, the tone of which was becoming 
more bitter each time she wrote. 

Her reply to his long and cheery epistle describing 
Ranga Duar’s unusual burst of gaiety during the 
Envoy’s visit and his own rescue of the children was 
as follows: 

‘Wou do not seem to miss me much among your new 
friends. While I am leading a most unhappy and miser- 

[173] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

able life here you appear to be enjoying yourself and 
giving little thought to me. You are lucky to have two 
such very beautiful ladies to make much of you; and I 
daresay they think you a wonderful hero for saving 
the little brats who, if they are like most children, would 
not be much loss. Their mother seems extremely friendly 
to you for such a devoted wife as you try to make her 
out to be. Or perhaps it is the girl you admire most; this 
marvellous young lady who shoots tigers and apparently 
manages the whole Terai Forest. You say you love me; 
but you don’t seem to be pining very much for me. While 
each day that comes since you left me is a fresh agony 
to me, you appear to contrive to be quite happy with- 
out me.” 

This letter stung Wargrave like the lash of a whip 
across the face. To do Violet justice no sooner had 
she sent it than she regretted it. But deeply hurt 
as he was by the bitter words he forgave her; for he 
felt that her life was indeed miserable and that he 
was unconsciously in a great measure to blame for 
its being so. But it maddened him to realise his 
present helplessness to alter matters. He was more 
than willing to sacrifice himself to help her; but it 
would be a long time before he could hope to save 
enough to pay his debts and make a home for her. 
Whether it was wicked or not to take away another 
man’s wife did not occur to him; all that he knew 
was that a woman was unhappy and he alone could 
help her. It seemed to him that the sin — if sin 
there were — ^was the husband’s, who starved her 
heart and rendered her miserable. 

[174] 


TIGER LAND 


In his distress work and sport proved his sal- 
vation. He threw himself heart and soul into his 
duty, and whenever there was nothing for him to 
do with the detachment Major Hunt encouraged him 
to go with the Political Officer into the jungle. For 
little as he suspected it the senior guessed the young 
man’s trouble and watched him sympathisingly. 

One never-to-be-forgotten day as Wargrave was 
returning from afternoon parade Colonel Dermot 
called to him from his gate and showed him a tele- 
gram. It ran: ^^Tiger marked down. Come im- 
mediately dak bungalow, Madpur Duar. Muriel.” 

As the subaltern perused it with delight the 
Colonel said: 

“Ask your C. O. for leave. Then, if he gives it, 
get something substantial to eat in the Mess and be 
ready to start at once. Madpur Duar is thirty odd 
miles away; and we’ll have to travel all night. Come 
to my bungalow as soon as you can.” 

Half an hour later the two were trudging down the 
road to the peelkhana carrying their rifles. 
Badshah, with a howdah roped on to his pad, 
plodded behind them; for it is far more comfortable 
to walk down a steep descent than be carried down 
it by an elephant. At the foot of the hills they 
mounted and were borne away into the gathering 
shadows of the long road through the forest. As 
they proceeded their talk was all of tigers; for in 
India, though there be bigger and more splendid 

[175] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

game in the land, its traditional animal never fails 
to interest, and to Wargrave on his way to his first 
tiger-shoot all other topics were insignificant. 

The sun went down and darkness settled on the 
forest. The talk died away and no sound was heard 
but the soft padding of their elephant’s huge feet 
in the dust of the road. The subaltern soon found 
the kowdah infinitely more trying than a seat on the 
pad when Badshah was in motion; for the plunging 
gait of the animal jerked him backwards and for- 
wards and threw him against the wooden rails if he 
forgot to hold himself at arm’s length from them. 
The discomfort spoiled his appreciation of the 
strange, attractive experience of being borne by 
night through the sleepless forest, where in the dark 
hours only the bird and the monkey repose; and 
even to them the creeping menace of the climbing 
snake affrights the one and the wheeling shapes of 
the night-fl3dng birds of prey scare the other. But 
on the ground all are awake. The glimmering 
whiteness of the road was occasionally blotted by 
the scurrying forms of animals, hunted and hunters, 
dashing across it. Once a tiny shriek in the dis- 
tance broke the silence of the jungle. 

“A wild elephant,” said Colonel Dermot. 

Then followed the loud crashing of rending 
boughs and falling trees. 

“That’s a herd feeding. They graze until about 
ten o’clock and then sleep on well into the small 
[176] 


TIGER LAND 


hours, wake and begin to feed again at dawn,” 
continued the Political Officer. 

Once a wild, unearthly wailing cry that seemed 
to come from every direction at once startled the 
subaltern: 

‘‘Good Heavens! what’s that?” he exclaimed, 
gripping his rifle and trying to pierce the darkness 
around them. 

“Only a Giant Owl,” was the reply. “It’s an 
uncanny noise. There ! ” 

Right over their heads it rang out again; and the 
stars above them were blotted out for a moment by 
a dark, circling shape above the tree-tops. 

Hour after hour went by as they were borne along 
through the night; and Wargrave bruised and 
battered by the howdah-xdAlSy fell constantly against 
them, so overcome with sleep was he. At last to his 
relief his companion called a halt for a few hours’ 
rest; and they brought the elephant to his knees, 
dismounted and stripped him of howdah and pad. 
Sitting on the latter they supped on sandwiches and 
coffee from Thermos flasks, and then stretched them- 
selves to sleep, while Badshah standing over them 
grazed on the grasses and branches within reach. 
Wargrave was dropping off to sleep when he was 
roused by the sharp, staccato bark of a khakur buck 
repeated several times. The tired man lost con- 
sciousness and was sunk in profound slumber when 
the silence of the forest was shattered by a snorting, 

[177] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

braying roar that rang through the jungle with 
alarming suddenness. 

Wargrave sprang up and groped for his rifle. 
But his companion lay tranquilly on the pad. 

‘Tt’s all right. It’s only a tiger that’s missed his 
spring and is angry about it,” he said sleepily. *Xie 
down again.” 

‘^Only a tiger, sir?” repeated Wargrave. ^‘But it 
sounded close by.” 

‘‘Yes, but Badshah will look after us. Don’t 
worry”; and the Colonel turned over and fell asleep. 

It was a little time, however, before Frank fol- 
lowed his example, and he had his rifle under his 
hand when he did. But the dark bulk of the 
elephant towering over them comforted him as he 
sank to sleep. 

A couple of hours later they were on their way 
again. It was broad daylight before they emerged 
from the jungle. It seemed strange to be out once 
more in the wide-stretching, open and cultivated 
plains and to look back on the great forest and, 
beyond it, to the mountains towering to the sky. 
Before them lay the flat expanse of the hedgeless, 
fertile fields dotted here and there with clusters of 
trimly-built huts or thick groves of bamboos and 
seamed with the lines of deep nullahs, the tops of 
the trees in them barely showing above the level and 
marking their winding course. 

The dak bungalow at Madpur Duar was soon 
[178] 


TIGER LAND 


reached, a single-storied building with a couple of 
trees shading the well behind it and a group of 
elephants and their mahouts. On the verandah 
Benson and his daughter were standing, the girl 
dressed in a khaki drill coat and skirt over breeches 
and soft leather gaiters, and waving a welcome to 
Badshah^s riders. 

After a hurried breakfast the latter were ready 
to start for the day’s sport. By then a line of ten 
female elephants, the tallest carrying a howdahy the 
rest only their pads, was drawn up before the 
bungalow; and at a word from their mahouts their 
trunks went up in the air and the animals trumpeted 
in salute as the party came out on the verandah. 

“We borrowed Mr. Carter’s and the Settlement 
Officer’s elephants for the beat,” said Miss Benson, 
as, wearing a big pith sunhat and carrying a double- 
barrelled .400 cordite rifle, she led the way down the 
verandah steps. 

It had been arranged that she was to take War- 
grave with her in her howdahy while her father 
accompanied Colonel Dermot on Badshah. Her big 
elephant knelt down and a ladder was laid against 
its side, up which she climbed, followed by the 
subaltern. When all were mounted she led the way 
across the plain. Although the ground was every- 
where level and just there uncultivated the elephants 
tailed off in single file as is the habit of their kind, 
wild or domesticated, each stepping with precise care 

[179] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

into the footprints of the one in front of it. Here 
in the Plains the heat was intense; and Wargrave, 
shading his eyes from the blinding glare, thought 
enviously of the coolness up in the mountains that he 
had left. As they moved along Muriel explained to 
him how the beat was to be conducted. 

Where the southern fringe of the Terai Jungle 
borders the cultivated country it is a favourite haunt 
of tigers, which from its shelter carry on war against 
the farmef^’ cattle. Creeping down the ravines 
seaming the soft soil and worn by the streams that 
flow through the forest from the hills they pull down 
the cows grazing or coming to drink in the nullahs, 
which are filled with small trees and scrubs afford- 
ing good cover. A tiger, when it has killed, drags 
the carcase of its prey into shade near water, 
eats a hearty meal of about eighty pounds of flesh, 
drinks and then sleeps until it is ready to feed 
again. If disturbed it retreats up the ravine to the 
forest. 

So, beating for one with elephants here, the sports- 
men place themselves on their howdah-htdinxig 
animals between the jungle and the spot where the 
tiger is known to be lying up, and the beater 
elephants enter the scrub from the far side and 
shepherd him gently towards the guns. 

Pointing to a distant line of tree-tops showing 
above the level plain she said: 

^‘There is the nullah in which, about a mile farther 
[i8o] 


TIGER LAND 


on, a cow was killed yesterday. I hope the tiger is 
still lying up in it. We’ll soon see.” 

They reached the ravine, which was twenty or 
thirty feet deep and contained a little stream flowing 
through tangled scrub, and moved along parallel 
to it and about a couple of hundred yards away. 
Presently the girl pointed to a tall tree growing in it 
and a quarter of a mile ahead of them. Its upper 
branches were bending imder the weight of numbers 
of foul-looking bald-headed vultures, squawking, 
huddled together, jostling each other on their perches 
and pecking angrily at their neighbours with irritable 
cries. Some circled in the air and occasionally 
swooped down towards the ground only to rocket up 
again affrightedly to the sky; for the tiger lay by its 
kill and resented the approach of any daring bird 
that aspired to share the feast. Muriel hurriedly 
explained how the conduct of the birds indicated the 
beast’s presence. 

‘Tf he were not there they’d be down tearing the 
carcase to pieces,” she said, as she held up her hand 
and halted the file behind her. 

“The beater elephants had better stop here, 
Colonel,” she called out to Dermot. “There is a 
way down and across the nullah, by which you can 
take Badshah to the far side. We will remain on 
this.” 

The Political Officer, who had seen and realised 
the significance of the vultures, waved his hand and 

[i8i] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

moved off at once. Muriel called up the mahouts 
and bade them enter the ravine and begin the beat 
in about ten minutes, then told her driver to go on. 
Half a mile beyond the tree she ordered him to halt 
and take up a position close to the edge of the 
nullah, into which they could look down. Below 
them the bottom was clear of scrub which ended 
fifty yards away. Dermot stopped opposite; and 
both elephants were turned to face towards the spot 
where the tiger was judged to be. 

‘‘Mr Wargrave, get to the front of the howdah 
and be ready, she said in a low tone. 

The subaltern protested chivalrously against 
taking the best place. 

“Oh, it’s all right. We’ve brought you out to get 
the tiger; so you must do as you’re told. If he 
breaks out this side take the first shot,” she said 
peremptorily. 

He submitted and took up his position with 
cocked rifle. As the nullah wound a good deal the 
tops of the trees in it prevented them from seeing if 
the beater-elephants had gone in; but in a few 
minutes they heard distant shouts and the crashing 
of the undergrowth as the big animals forced their 
way through the scrub. 

“Be ready, Mr. Wargrave,” whispered the girl. 
“Sometimes a tiger starts on the run at the first 
sound.” 

His nerves a-quiver and his heart beating violently 
[182] 


TIGER LAND 


the subaltern held his rifle at the ready, as the noise 
of the beaters drew nearer. Again and again he 
brought the butt to his shoulder, only to lower it 
when he realised that it was a false alarm. The 
sounds of the beat grew louder and closer, and still 
there was no sign of the tiger. Frank's heart sank. 
He saw the vultures stir uneasily and some rise into 
the air as the elephants passed under them. 

At last through the trees he began to catch 
occasional glimpses of the mahouts, and he lost hope. 
But suddenly from the scrub below them in the 
nullah a number of small birds flew up; and the next 
instant the edge of the bushes nearest them was 
parted stealthily and a tiger slunk cautiously out in 
the bottom of the ravine. 

Wargrave’s rifle went up to his shoulder; and he 
fired. A startled roar from the beast told that it was 
hit; but it bounded in a flash across the ravine and 
up the steep bank on their side not forty yards from 
them. As it scrambled swiftly over the edge it 
caught sight of the elephant and with a deep 
‘Vough!" charged straight at it. 

Frank fired again, and his bullet struck up the 
dust, missing the swift-rushing animal by a couple of 
feet. The next moment with a roar the tiger sprang 
at the elephant. With one leap it landed with its 
hind paws on the elephant’s head, its fore-feet on the 
front rail of the howdah, standing right over the 
mahout who crouched in terror on the neck. The 

[183] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

savage, snarling, yellow-and-black mask was thrust 
almost into Wargrave’s face, and from the open red 
mouth lined with fierce white fangs he could feel 
the hot breath on his cheek as he tugged frantically 
at the under-lever of his rifle to open the breech and 
re-load. In another moment the tiger would have 
been on top of them in the howdah when a gun- 
barrel shot past the subaltern and pushed him aside. 
The muzzle of MuriePs rifle was pressed almost 
against the brute’s skull as she fired. 

Frank hardly heard the report. All he knew was 
that the snarling face disappeared as quickly as it 
had come. The whole thing was an affair of seconds. 
Shot through the brain the tiger dropped back to the 
ground with a heavy thud and fell dead beside the 
staunch elephant which had never moved all through 
the terrible ordeal. 

A cry of relief and a prayer to Allah burst 
from the grey-bearded Mahommedan mahout, as 
he straightened himself; and Wargrave turned 
with glowing face and outstretched hand to the 
girl. 

‘^Oh, well done! Splendidly done!” he cried. 
‘Tou saved me from being lugged bodily out of the 
howdah or at least from being mauled. This lever 
jammed and I couldn’t re-load.” 

Her eyes shining and face beaming with excite- 
ment she shook his hand. 

“Wasn’t it thrilling? I thought he’d have got 
[184] 


TIGER LAND 


both of us.” Then to the mahout she continued in 
Urdu, ‘‘Gul Dad, are you hurt?” 

The man was solemnly feeling himself all over. 
He stared at a rent in the shoulder of his coat, torn 
by the tiger ^s claw. It was the only injury that he 
had suffered. He put his finger on it and grumbled: 

^^Missie-fta^fl, the shaitan (devil) has torn my 
coat.” 

In the reaction from the strain the girl and War- 
grave went off in peals of laughter at his words. 

“But are you not wounded?” Miss Benson re- 
peated. “Has it not clawed you?” 

The mahout shook his head. 

“No, missie-6fl^a; but it was my new coat,” he 
insisted.* 

Frank looked down at the tiger stretched motion- 
less on the yellow grass. 

“By George, you shot him dead enough. Miss 
Benson!” he exclaimed. 

She stared down at the animal. 

“Yes; but it’s well to be careful. I Ve seen a tiger 
look as dead as that and yet spring up and 
maul a man who approached it incautiously,” she 
said. 

♦A similar incident occurred in real life near Alipur Duar 
in Eastern Bengal to a lady and an officer on a female elephant 
named Dundora during a beat. But in this case it was the 
man that killed the tiger with his second rifle when it was 
standing on the elephant’s head with its fore-paws on the 
howdah-ra.i\. I can personally testify to Dundora’s immobility 
when facing a charging tiger.— The Author. 

[185] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

She raised her rifle and covered the prostrate 
animal. 

‘'Throw something at it/’ she continued. 

Wargrave took out a couple of heavy, copper- 
cased cartridges and flung them one by one at the 
tiger’s head, striking it on the jaw and in the eye. 
The animal did not move. 

“Seems dead enough,” said the girl, lowering her 
rifle. “Here come the beaters.” 

The other elephants had now burst out in line 
through the scrub. Their mahouts shouted enquiries 
to Gul Dad and when they heard of the tiger’s death 
cheered gleefully, for it meant backsheesh to them. 
Badshah was seen to be searching for a way down 
into the nullah and in a few minutes brought his 
passengers up alongside Miss Benson and the 
subaltern. Her father and Dermot congratulated 
the girl warmly; and the latter, having made 
Badshah kick the tiger to make certain that it was 
dead, dismounted and examined it. 

“Here’s your shot, Wargrave,” he said, pointing to 
a hole in the belly. “A bit too low, but it made a 
nasty wound that would have killed the beast 
eventually.” 

“I’m so ashamed of missing it with my second 
barrel, sir,” said the subaltern. “But for Miss 
Benson I’d have been a gone coon.” 

“Yes, it certainly looked exciting enough from our 
side of the nullah,^* said the Colonel, smiling; “so 

[i86] 


TIGER LAND 


what must it have been like from where you were? 
Well, anyhow it’s your tiger.” 

“Oh, nonsense, sir; it’s Miss Benson’s. I ought 
to be kicked for being such a muff.” 

“Jungle law, Mr. Wargrave,” said the girl, laugh- 
ing. “You hit it first, so it’s your beast.” 

“You needn’t be ashamed of missing it,” added 
the Colonel. “A charging tiger coming full speed 
at you is not an easy mark. No; the skin is yours; 
and Muriel has so many that she can spare it.” 

“Well, Miss Benson, I accept it as a gift from you; 
but I won’t acknowledge that I have earned it,” said 
the subaltern. 

“Now, we’d better pad it and see about getting 
back,” said Dermot, looking at his watch. 

The other elephants had now found their way 
up the bank and joined Badshah and his companion. 
When their mahouts heard from Gul Dad the story 
of the tiger’s death they exclaimed in amazement 
and admiration: 

Chat! (Oh, brother I) Truly the missie- 
baba is a wonder. She will be the death of many 
tigers, indeed,” they said. 

Then each in turn brought his elephant up to 
the prostrate animal and made her smell and strike 
it with her trunk in order to inspire her with con- 
tempt for tigers. Colonel Dermot measured it with 
a tape and found it to be nine feet six inches from 
nose to tip of tail. It was a young, fully-grown male 

[187] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

in splendid condition. Then came the trouble- 
some business of ^‘padding’’ it, that is, hoisting it on 
to the pad of one of the elephants to bring it back 
to the bungalow to be skinned. It was not an easy 
matter. For the tiger weighed nearly three hundred 
and fifty pounds; and to raise the limp carcase, 
which sagged like a feather bed at every spot where 
there was not a man to support it, was a difficult task. 
But it was achieved at last; and with the tiger roped 
firmly on a pad the elephants started back in single 
file. 

As they went over the plain in the burning sun 
Wargrave looked back to where the striped body was 
borne along with stiff, dangling legs. 

“By Jove, iFs been great. Miss Benson,’^ he ex- 
claimed. “Some people say tiger shooting’s not 
exciting. They ought to have been with us to-day. 
I am lucky to have got a bison already and now to 
have seen this. With luck I’ll be having a shot at 
an elephant next.” 

The girl replied in a serious tone: 

“Don’t say that to Colonel Dermot. Elephants 
are his especial friends. Besides, you are only 
allowed to shoot rogues; and since he’s been here 
there have been none in these jungles which formerly 
swarmed with them. There’s no doubt that he has 
a wonderful, uncanny control over even wild 
elephants. Do you know that once a rajah tried to 
have him killed in his palace by a mad tusker, which 

[i88] 


TIGER LAND 


had just slaughtered several men, and the moment 
the brute got face to face with him it was cowed and 
obeyed him like a dog?’’ 

“Good gracious, is that so?” 

“Yes, I could tell you even more extraordinary 
things about his power over elephants; but some day 
when you’re in the jungle with him you may see it 
for yourself. Oh, isn’t it hot? I do wish we were 
home.” 

Arrived at the dak bungalow the tiger’s carcase 
was lowered to the ground and given over to the 
knives of the flayers summoned from the bazaar of 
Madpur Duar a mile away. As soon as the news was 
known in the small town crowds of Hindu women 
streamed to the bungalow compound, where with 
their saris (shawls) pulled modestly across their 
brown faces by rounded arms tinkling with glass 
bangles they squatted on the ground and waited 
patiently until the skin was drawn clear off the raw 
red carcase. Then they crowded around a couple 
of the older mahouts who, first cutting off all the 
firm white fat of the well-fed cattle thief to be 
melted down for oil (esteemed to be a sovereign 
remedy for rheumatism), hacked the flesh into 
chunks which they threw into the eager hands of the 
women. These took the meat home to cook for their 
husbands to eat to instil into them the spirit and 
vigour of a tiger. The skin, spread out and pegged 
to the ground, was covered with wood ashes and left 
[189] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

to dry. Little of the animal was left but the bone^, 
to the disappointment of the wheeling, whistling 
kites waiting on soaring wings in the sky above. 

After tea the two officers took their leave with 
many expressions of gratitude from the younger man 
to the girl for her kindness in arranging the beat 
for him. Hours afterwards, as they halted in the 
forest for a rest in the middle of the night, Colonel 
Dermot said: 

‘‘You told me once that you’d like a job like mine, 
Wargrave. Would you care for frontier political 
work here?” 

“I’d love it, sir,” exclaimed the subaltern en- 
thusiastically. “Would it be possible to get it?” 

“Well, I’ve been thinking for some time of apply- 
ing to the Government of India for an assistant 
political officer who would help me and take over 
if I went on leave. But I’d want to train my own 
man and not merely accept any youngster who was 
pitchforked into the Department just because he had 
a father or an uncle with a pull at Simla. Now, if 
you like I’ll apply for you, on condition that you’ll 
work at Bhutanese and the frontier dialects. I’ll 
teach them to you.” 

“I’d like nothing better, sir. I’m not bad at 
languages.” 

“Yes, I’ve noticed that your Hindustani is very 
good and idiomatic. I’ve been watching you and I 
like your manner with natives. One must be 
[190] 


TIGER LAND 


sympathetic, kind and just, but also firm with them. 
Well, I’ll try you. The rainy season will be on us 
very soon, and then all outdoor work and sport will 
be impossible. One dare not go into the jungle — 
it’s too full of malaria and blackwater fever. The 
planters and Forest Officers have to cage themselves 
in wire gauze ^mosquito houses.’ During the rains 
you’ll have plenty of time to work at the languages.” 

‘‘Thank you very much. Colonel. I promise you 
I’ll go at them hard.” 

“You’ll have a fellow-student for part of the time. 
Miss Benson’s coming to stay with us during the 
Monsoons for a bit; and she has asked me to teach 
her Bhutanese, too. She wants it, as she has to deal 
with Bhuttia woodcutters and hill folk generally. 
Well, that’s fixed. Goodnight.” 

“Goodnight, sir,” answered the subaltern, as he 
lay down on the pad and stared at the stars. He 
was overjoyed at Colonel Dermot’s offer, and as he 
dropped asleep it was with a thrill of pleasure that 
he realised he would see something more of the girl 
who had been his companion that day. 


CHAPTER X 


A POLITICAL OFFICER IN THE MAKING 

The lightning spattered the heavens and tore the 
black sky into a thousand fragments, the thunder 
crashed in appalling peals of terrifying sound which 
echoed again and again from the invisible mountains. 
The rain fell in ropes of water that sent the brown, 
foam-flecked torrents surging full-fed down every 
gully and ravine in the mist-wrapped hills. The 
single, steep road of Ranga Duar was now the rocky 
bed of a racing flood inches deep that swirled and 
raged round War grave’s high rubber boots as he 
waded up towards the Mess clad in an oilskin coat, 
off which the rain splashed. He was glad to arrive 
at the garden gate, turn in through it, climb the 
verandah steps, and reach his door. Here he flung 
^side his coat and kicked off the heavy boots. 

Entering his room he pulled on his slippers, filled 
his pipe with tobacco from a lime-dried bottle and 
sat down at his one rickety table at the window. 
Then he took out of his pocket and laid before him 
a manuscript book filled with notes on the frontier 
dialects taken at the lesson with Colonel Dermot 
from which he had just come. He opened it 
mechanically but did not even glance at it. His 
thoughts were elsewhere. 

[192] 


A POLITICAL OFFICER IN THE MAKING 

Months had elapsed since the day on which he 
had seen his first tiger killed. Not long afterwards 
the Rains had come to put a stop to descents into 
the jungle. But his interest in the preparation for 
his new work compensated him for the imprisonment 
within walls by the terrible tropical storms and the 
never-ceasing downpour. He had flung himself 
enthusiastically into the study of the frontier 
languages, of which Colonel Dermot proved to be a; 
painstaking and able teacher. Miss Benson, who 
had returned to Ranga Duar and remained there 
longer than she had originally intended, owing to 
fever contracted in the jungle, joined him in these 
studies and astonished her fellow-pupil by her 
aptitude and quickness of apprehension. But her 
presence proved disastrous to him. Thrown con- 
stantly together as they were, spending hours every 
day side by side, the subaltern realised to his dismay 
that he was falling in love with the girl. 

It would have been strange had it been otherwise 
so pretty and attractive was she. Often Mrs. Der- 
mot, peeping into her husband’s office and seeing 
the dark and the fair head bent close together over 
a book, smiled to herself, well-pleased at the thought 
of her favourites being mutually attracted. To her 
husband the thought never occurred. Men are very 
dull in these matters. 

But to Wargrave the realisation of the truth was 
^unbearable. He was pledged to another woman, 

[193] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

whose heart he had won even if unconsciously, who 
was willing for love of him to give up everything and 
face the world’s censure and scorn. He could not 
play her false. He had given her his word. He 
could not now be disloyal to her without utterly 
wrecking all her chances of happiness in life and 
dishonouring himself for ever in his own eyes. 
Muriel Benson had left the station ten days ago to 
rejoin her father; and Wargrave had instantly felt 
that he dared not see her again until he was 
irrevocably and openly bound to Violet. So he had 
written to her on the morrow of the girl’s departure 
and, without giving her the real reason for his 
action, begged her to come to him at once, enclosing, 
as he was now able to do, a cheque for her expenses. 
It seemed to him that only by her presence could he 
be saved from being a traitor to his word. 

As soon as he had sent the letter he went to his 
Commanding Officer and told him everything. It 
was not until he was actually explaining his conduct 
that he realised that he should have obtained his 
permission before inviting Violet to come, for Major 
Hunt, as Commandant of the Station, had the power 
to forbid her residing in or even entering it. 

The senior officer listened in silence. When the 
subaltern had finished he said: 

“I’ve known about this matter since you came, 
Wargrave. Your Colonel wrote me — as your new 
C.O. — ^what I considered an unnecessary and unfair 

[194] 


A POLITICAL OFFICER IN THE MAKING 


letter giving me the reason of your being sent here. 
But Hepburn, whom I know slightly, discovered I 
was here and also wrote explaining matters more fully 
and, I think, more justly.” 

The subaltern looked at him in surprise; but his 
face brightened at the knowledge of his former 
commander’s kindness. 

“Now, Wargrave, we’ve got on very well together 
so far, you and I. I have always been satisfied with 
your work, and was glad to help you by agreeing 
to Colonel Dermot’s application for you. I believe 
that you will make a good political officer, otherwise 
I wouldn’t have done so — even though I’m your 
debtor for saving me from that snake 

“Oh, Major, that was nothing,” broke in the 
subaltern. “Anyone would have done it.” 

“Yes, I know. But it happened that you were the 
anyone. Now, I’m going to talk to you as your 
friend and not as your commanding officer. Frankly, 
I am very sorry for what you have just told me. I 
was hoping that Time and separation were curing 
you — and the lady — of your folly. Believe me, only 
unhappiness and misery can come to you both from 
it.” 

“Perhaps so, sir; but I’m bound in honour.” 

The older man shook his head sadly. 

“Is honour the word for it? I’ll make a confession 
to you, Wargrave. You consider me a bachelor. 
Well, I’m not married now; but I was. When I was 

[195] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

a young subaltern I was thrown much with a married 
woman older than myself. I was flattered that she 
should take any notice of me, for she was handsome 
and popular with men, while I was a shy, awkward 
boy. She said she was ^being a mother’ to me — ^you 
know what a married woman ^mothering’ boys leads 
to in India. She used to tell me how misunderstood 
she was, neglected, mated to a clown and all that.” 
(Frank grew red at certain memories.) “Women 
have a regular formula when they’re looking for 
sympathy they’ve no right to. I pitied her. I felt 
that her husband ought to be shot. Looking back 
now I see that he was just the ordinary, easy-going, 
indifferent individual that most husbands become; 
but then I deemed him a tyrant and a brute. Well, 
I ran away with her.” 

He paused and passed his hand wearily across 
his brow. 

“There was the usual scandal, divorce, damages 
and costs that plunged me into debt I’m not out of 
yet. We married. In a year we were heartily sick 
of each other — hated, is nearer the truth. She con- 
soled herself with other men. I protested, we 
quarrelled again and again. At last we agreed to 
separate; and I insisted on her going to England 
and staying there. I couldn’t trust her in India. 
Living in lodgings and Bayswater boarding-houses 
wasn’t amusing — she got bored, but I wouldn’t have 
her back. She took to drinking and ran up debts 
[196] 


A POLITICAL OFFICER IN THE MAKING 


that I had to pay. Then — ^and I selfishly felt glad, 
but it a happy release for both — she died. 
Drank herself to death. Now you know why I’d be 
sorry that another man should follow the path I 
trod.” 

He was silent. Wargrave felt an intense sympathy 
for this quiet, kindly man whose life had been a 
tragedy. He had guessed from the first that his 
senior officer had some ever-present grief weighing 
on his soul. He would have given much to be able 
to utter words of consolation, but he did not know 
what to say. 

Major Hunt spoke again. 

‘‘You must dree your own weird, Wargrave. If 
the lady wishes to come here — ^well, I shall not 
prevent her; but the General, when he knows of it, 
will not permit her to remain. But you have to deal 
with Colonel Dermot. You had better tell him. 
You might go now.” 

Without a word the subaltern left the bungalow. 
He went straight to the Political Officer and repeated 
his story. Colonel Dermot did not interrupt him, 
but, when he had finished, said: 

“I have no right and no wish to interfere with 
your private life, Wargrave, nor to offer you advice 
as to how to lead it. Your work is all that I can 
claim to criticise. Of course I see, with Major Hunt, 
the difficulty that will arise over the lady’s remaining 
in this small station, where her presence must be- 

[197] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

come known to the Staff. If you are both resolved 
on taking the irretrievable step it would be wiser to 
defer it until you were elsewhere. I don’t offer to 
blame either of you; for I don’t know enough to 
judge.” 

“Well, sir, I — perhaps you won’t want me under 
you — ^and Mrs. Dermot — ^you mightn’t wish me to 

,” stammered the subaltern, standing miserably 

before him. 

“Oh, yes; you’ll make a good political officer none 
the less,” said the Colonel smiling. “And you need 
not be afraid of my wife turning away from you 
with horror. If she can be a friend to the lady she 
will. As for you, well, you saved our children. War- 
grave” — ^he laid his hand on the young man’s 
shoulder — ^‘^you are our friend for life. I shall not 
repeat your story to my wife. Perhaps some day 
you may like to tell it to her yourself.” 

Wargrave tried to thank him gratefully, but failed, 
and, picking up his hat, went out into the rain. 

That was days ago; and no answer had come 
from Violet, so that the subaltern lived in a state 
of strain and anxious expectation. Indeed, some 
weeks had passed since her last letter, as usual an 
unhappy one; and, sitting staring out into the grey 
world of falling rain turned to flame every minute by 
the vivid lightning, he racked his brains to guess the 
reason of her silence. 

A jangle of bells sounded through the storm. 

[198] 


A POLITICAL OFFICER IN THE MAKING 


Glancing out Wargrave saw a curiously grotesque 
figure climb the verandah steps from the garden and 
stand shaking itself while the water poured from 
it. It was an almost naked man, squat and sturdy- 
limbed, with glistening wet brown skin, an oilskin- 
covered package on his back, a short spear hung with 
bells in his hand. It was the postman. For a 
miserable pittance he jogged up and down the 
mountains in fine weather or foul, carrying His 
Majesty’s Mails, passing fearlessly through the 
jungle in peril of wild beats, his ridiculous weapon, 
the bells of which were supposed to frighten tigers, 
his only protection. 

Wargrave opened the door and went out to him. 
The man grinned, unslung and opened his parcel. 
From it he took out a bundle of letters, handed them 
to the subaltern, and went on to knock at Burke’s 
door with his correspondence. Frank returned to 
his room with the mail which contained the official 
letters for the detachment, of which he was still act- 
ing as adjutant. He threw them aside when he saw 
an envelope with Violet’s handwriting on it. He 
tore it open eagerly. 

To his surprise the letter was addressed from a 
hotel in Poona, the large and gay military and civil 
station in the West of India, a few hours’ rail journey 
inland from Bombay. He skimmed through it 
rapidly. 

She wrote that, utterly weary of the dullness of 

[199] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

Rohar, she had gone to Poona to spend part of the 
festive and fashionable season there and was now 
revelling in the many dances, dinners, theatricals and 
other gaieties of the lively station. Everybody was 
very kind to her, especially the men. She was in- 
vited to the private entertainments at Government 
House, and His Excellency the Governor always 
danced with her. Her programme was crowded at 
every ball; and she had been asked to take one of 
the leading parts in “The Country Girl” to be 
produced by the Amateur Dramatic Society. She 
had two excellent ponies with which to hunt and 
to join in gymkhanas. She wished Frank could be 
with her; but probably he was enjoying himself 
more with his wild beasts and Tiger Girls. As to his 
proposal that she should go to him at once in that 
little station he must have been mad when he made 
it. For had they not discussed the matter 
thoroughly and decided that they must wait? She 
presumed that he had not suddenly come into a 
fortune. From his description of Ranga Duar and 
its inhabitants it could be no place for her under 
the circumstances. No; there was nothing to do but 
to wait. Besides, it was so very jolly now at Poona. 
Frank must not be an impatient boy; and she sent 
him all her love. His cheque she had torn up. 

The subaltern whistled, read the letter again very 
carefully, folded and put it away. What had come 
to Violet? This was so unlike her. Still, he had 
[200] 


A POLITICAL OFFICER IN THE MAKING 


to confess to himself that he was relieved at not yet 
having to cross the Rubicon. Perhaps she was right; 
it might be better to wait. He was glad to know that 
for a time at least she was away from the uncongenial 
surroundings of Rohar and again enjoying life. He 
went through the official correspondence, shoved it 
in his pocket, put on coat and boots and splashed 
through the water down the road to the Command- 
ing Officer's bungalow. When they had discussed 
the official letters and drafted answers to them War- 
grave told Major Hunt of the gist of Violet’s reply. 
The senior officer nodded, but said nothing about it 
and went on to talk of other matters. 

Next day the subaltern informed Colonel Dermot, 
who made no comment and did not refer to the 
matter again. His wife, ignorant of Mrs. Norton’s 
existence, delighted to talk to Wargrave about 
Muriel, a topic always interesting to him, dangerous 
though it was to his peace of mind. His thoughts 
were constantly with the girl, and he sought eagerly 
for news of her when occasional letters came to Mrs. 
Dermot from her, touring their wide forest district 
with her father. 

Frank had never been able to fathom Burke’s 
feelings towards her. The Irishman’s manner to 
her in public was always light-hearted and cheer- 
fully friendly; but the subaltern suspected that it 
concealed a deeper, warmer feeling. He betrayed 
no jealousy of Frank’s constant companionship with 
[201] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

her when she took part in his studies; and his 
friendly regard for his younger brother officer never 
altered. On her side the girl showed openly that she 
shared the universal liking that the kindly, pleasant- 
natured doctor inspired. 

The weary months of the rainy season dragged 
by; but the subaltern spent them to advantage under 
Colonel Dermot’s tuition and, possessing the knack 
of readily acquiring foreign languages, made rapid 
progress with Bhutanese, Tibetan and the frontier 
dialects, his good ear for music helping him greatly 
in getting the correct accent. Another accomplish- 
ment of his, a talent for acting, was of service; for 
the Political Officer wished him to be capable of 
penetrating into Bhutan in disguise if need be. So 
he taught him how to be a merchant, peasant, noble- 
man’s retainer or a lama Red or Yellow, of the 
country — but always a man of Northern Bhutan 
and the Tibetan borderland, for his height and blue 
eyes were not unusual there, though seldom or never 
seen in the south. Frank was carefully instructed 
in the appropriate manners, customs and expressions 
of each part that he played, how to eat and behave 
in company, how to walk, sit and sleep. But he 
specialised as a lama, for in that character he would 
meet with the least interference in the priest-ridden 
country. He was taught the Buddhist chants and 
how to drone them, how to carry his pra3dng-wheel 
and finger a rosary to the murmured *^Om mani 
[202] 


A POLITICAL OFFICER IN THE MAKING 


padmi hun^^ of the Tibetans, and — for he was some- 
thing of an artist — how to paint the Buddhist 
pictorial Wheel of Life, the Sid-pa-i Khor-ld or Cycle 
of Existence that the gentle Gautama, the Buddha, 
himself first drew and that hangs in the vestibule 
of every lamasery to teach priest and layman the 
leading law of their religion. Re-birth. 

Colonel Dermot was helped in his instruction of 
his pupil by his chief spy and confidential messenger, 
an ex-monk from a great monastery in Punaka, the 
capital of Bhutan. This man, Tashi, before he 
wearied of the cloistered life and fled to India, had 
been always one of the principal actors in the great 
miracle plays and Devil Dances of his lamasery, for 
he was gifted with considerable histrionic talent. He 
delighted in teaching Wargrave to play his various 
rdles, for he found the subaltern an apt pupil. 

As soon as the rains ended the Political Officer 
began to take his disciple with him on his tours and 
patrols along the frontier. Alone they roamed on 
Badshah among the mountains on which the border 
ran in a confusedly irregular line. Sometimes with 
or without Tashi they crossed into Bhutan in disguise 
and wandered among the steep, forest-clad hills and 
deep, unhealthy valleys seamed with rivers prone to 
sudden floods that rose in a few hours thirty or forty 
feet. Wargrave marvelled at the engineering skill of 
the inhabitants who with rude and imperfect 
appliances had thrown cantilever bridges over the 

[203] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

deep gorges of this mountainous southern zone. 
Among the dull-witted peasants in the villages he 
practised the parts that he had learned, speaking 
little at first and taking care to mingle Tibetan and 
Chinese words with the language of Bhutan to keep 
up the fable of his northern birth. He soon promised 
to be in time as ski! full in disguise as his tutor. 

Colonel Dermot was anxious to investigate the 
activities of the Chinese Amhan, reputed to reach 
their height in the territory just across the Indian 
border ruled by the Tuna Penlop and lying west 
of the Black Mountain range that divides Bhutan. 
This great feudal chieftain was reputed to be com- 
pletely under the influence of Yuan Shi Hung and 
both anti-British and disloyal to his overlord the 
Maharajah or Tongsa Penlop. The close watch that 
his myrmidons kept on the stretch of frontier be- 
tween his territories and India prevented Dermot 
from learning what went on behind the screen; for 
the spies of the Political Officer’s Secret Service 
could not penetrate it and bring back news. 

Wargrave was present when the last sturdy- 
limbed Bhuttia emissary reported his failure to cross 
the line. As the man withdrew the Colonel turned 
to Frank and said: 

“We’ll go ourselves. I wanted to avoid it if 
possible; for it wouldn’t do for me to be caught. 
Not only because it would cause political com- 
plications, for I’m not supposed to trespass on 
[204] 


A POLITICAL OFFICER IN THE MAKING 

Bhutanese territory univited, but also because fatal 
accidents might happen to us if Yuan Shi Hung 
and his friends get hold of us. I^m not anxious to 
die yet. Be ready to start at midnight.’’ 

^‘Do you really think we’ll be able to get through, 
sir?” queried the subaltern. ‘‘How shall we do 
it?” 

“Wait and see,” was the curt reply. 

Before the sun rose next day Badshah was deep 
in the forest, bearing the two officers and Tashi on 
his back. He moved rapidly along animal paths 
through the jungle in a direction parallel with the 
mountains. Jungle fowl whirred up from under his 
feet, deer crashed away through the undergrowth 
as he passed; but never a shot was fired at them, 
though rifles and guns were in the riders’ hands. 
Little brown monkeys peeped down at them from the 
tree-tops or leapt away along the air lanes among the 
leafy branches, swinging by hand or foot, spring- 
ing across the voids, the babies clutching fast to 
their mothers’ bodies in the dizzy flights. 

In the afternoon a distant crashing, which told 
of trees falling before the pressure of great heads 
and the weight of huge bodies, made Wargrave ask: 

“Wild elephants, sir?” 

Dermot nodded. 

“Sounds as if they were right in our path. Shall 
we see them?” 

“Yes. Don’t touch that!” said the Colonel 

[205] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

sharply; for the excited subaltern, who had never 
yet seen a wild herd, was reaching for his rifle. 
Wargrave obeyed, remembering Miss Benson^s re- 
mark on the Political Officer’s love of the great 
animals. 

Soon unmistakable signs showed that they were 
on the track of a herd; and presently Frank caught 
sight of a slate-coloured body in the imdergrowth, 
then another and another. As he was wondering 
how the animals would receive them Badshah 
emerged on an open glade filled with elephants of all 
ages and sizes, from new-born woolly calves a bare 
three feet at the shoulder to splendid tuskers nine 
feet ten inches in height and lean, ragged-eared old 
animals a hundred and thirty years of age. All were 
regarding the new-comer and their trunks were 
raised to point towards him, while from their throats 
came a low purring sound, which appeared to the 
subaltern to have more of pleasure than menace in 
it. Instead of seeming hostile or alarmed they 
behaved as though they had expected and were 
welcoming their domesticated brother. This was so 
evident that Frank felt no fear even when they 
closed in on Badshah and touched him with their 
trunks. 

Dermot, smiling at his companion’s amazement, 
said: 

‘‘This is Badshah’s old herd, Wargrave, and 
they’re used to him and me. I’ve come in search 
[206] 


A POLITICAL OFFICER IN THE MAKING 


of them, for it is by their aid that I propose to enter 
Bhutan.^’ 

And the subaltern was still more surprised when 
the animals, which numbered over a hundred, fell 
in behind Badshah — cows with calves leading, 
tuskers in rear — ^and followed him submissively in 
single file as he headed for the mountains. When 
night fell they were climbing above the foot-hills 
under the vivid tropic stars. 

A couple of hours before midnight the leader 
halted, and the line behind him scattered to feed 
on the bamboos and the luscious grasses, though the 
younger calves nuzzled their mothers^ breasts. 
Badshah sank to his knees to allow his passengers 
to dismount and relieve him of his pad. The 
three men ate and then wrapped themselves in their 
blankets, for it was very cold high up in the 
mountains, and stretched themselves to sleep, as 
the great animals around them ceased to feed and 
rested. Badshah lowered himself cautiously to the 
ground and lay down near his men. 

Before Wargrave lost consciousness he marvelled 
at Dermot’s uncanny power over the huge beasts 
around them — a power that could make these shy 
mammoths thus subservient to his purposes. He 
began to understand why his companion was re- 
garded as a demigod by the wild jungle-folk and 
hill-dwellers. 

When at daybreak the herd moved on again, 
[207] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

climbing ever higher in the mountains, the three 
men lay flat on Badshah’s back and covered 
themselves with their grey blankets lest vigilant 
watchers on the peaks around might espy them. 
Thus do the mahouts of the koonkies, or trained 
female elephants employed in hunting and snar- 
ing wild tuskers, conceal themselves during the 
chase. 

But darkness shielded them effectively when the 
herd swept at length through a rocky pass on the 
frontier-line between India and Bhutan, and with 
cries of fear and dismay armed men seated around 
watch-fires fled in panic before the earth-shaking 
host. The screen was penetrated. 

Daylight found them on the banks of a broad, 
swift-flowing river in a valley between the range of 
mountains through which they had passed and a: 
line of still more formidable and snow-clad peaks. 
The elephants swam the wide and rushing water, for 
of all land animals their kind are the best swimmers. 
The tiniest babies were supported by the trunks of 
their mothers, on to whose backs older calves 
climbed and were thus carried across. Without 
stopping the herd plunged into the awful passes of 
the next range, of which they were not clear until 
the evening of the following day. Then they halted 
in dense forest. 

Next morning Dermot took from the pockets of 
Bad shah’s pad the dresses and other things that they 
[208] 


A POLITICAL OFFICER IN THE MAKING 

needed for their disguises, and instead of replacing 
the pad concealed it carefully. Then he said: 

‘‘We’ll leave our escort here, Wargrave, and carry 
on by ourselves; for we are not far from inhabited 
and cultivated country, and indeed fairly near the 
Jong (castle) of our enemy the Penlop of Tuna.” 

The wild elephants were feeding all around, pay- 
ing no heed to them. The Colonel turned to Badshah 
and pointing to the ground said one word: 

^^Raho ! ( Remain ! ) ” 

Then he continued to Wargrave: 

“We’ll find them, or they’ll find us, whenever we 
return.” 

An hour later two elderly lamas in soiled yellow 
robes and horn-rimmed spectacles, followed by a 
lame coolie carrying their scanty possessions, 
emerged, rosary and praying-wheel in hand, from 
the forest into the cultivated country. 

For some weeks they wandered unsuspected 
through the Tuna Penlop’s dominions and even 
penetrated into his own jong, where they were en- 
tertained and their prayers solicited by his cut-throat 
retainers. They learned enough to realise that the 
Amban was endeavouring by the free supply of arms 
and military instructors to form here the nucleus of 
a trained force to be employed eventually against 
India, backed up by reinforcements of Chinese 
troops and contingents from other parts of Bhutan. 

Their investigations completed they returned 
[209] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

safely to the forest in which they had left the herd; 
and, much to Wargrave’s relief, they had not been 
many hours camped on the spot where they had 
parted with them when Badshah and his wild com- 
panions appeared. The spies returned to India as 
they had come, unseen and unsuspected. 

This excursion was but the first of many that 
Wargrave made with the Colonel and the herd; and 
he soon began to know almost every member of it 
and make friends, not only with the solemn but 
friendly little calves, but even with their less trust- 
ing mothers. He was now thoroughly at home in 
the jungle and no longer needed a tutor in sport. 
His one room in the Mess began to be overcrowded 
with trophies of his skill with the rifle. Other tiger- 
skins had joined the first; and, although he had not 
secured a second bison, several good heads of samb- 
huTy khakur and cheetul, or spotted deer, hung on 
his whitewashed stone walls. 

Thus with sport and work more fascinating than 
sport Wargrave found the months slipping by. 
From Raymond he learned that Violet had returned 
to Rohar before she wrote herself. When she did 
she seemed to be in a brighter and more affectionate, 
as well as calmer, mood than she had been before 
her visit to Poona. But gradually her letters be- 
came less and less frequent; and Frank began to 
wonder — ^with a little sense of guilty, shamed hope — 
if she were beginning to forget him. 

[210] 


A POLITICAL OFFICER IN THE MAKING 


Christmas came; and with its coming Ranga Duar 
woke again to life. Besides the Bensons and Carter, 
who now brought his wife, Mrs. DermoFs brother — 
a subaltern in an Indian cavalry regiment — and five 
planters, old friends of his from the district in 
which he had once been a planter himself, came to 
spend Christmas in the small station. Major Hunt^s 
bungalow and the Mess took in the overflow from 
the Political Officer's house. 

Brian and Eileen had the gayest, happiest time of 
their little lives. Presents were heaped on them. 
Muriel and Frank initiated them into all the delights 
of their first Christmas tree, and Burke introduced 
them to a real Punch and Judy Show. On Christmas 
Day Badshah, his neck encircled with a garland of 
flowers procured from the Plains, was led up sol- 
emnly by his seldom-seen mahout to present Colonel 
Dermot with a gilded lime and receive in return 
a present of silver rupees which passed into the 
possession of the said mahout. Then he was fed with 
dainties by the children; and Eileen insisted on being 
tossed aloft by the curving trunk, to the detriment 
of her starched party frock. 

The weather was appropriate to the season, cold 
and bright, and although no snow fell so low down, 
it froze at night, so that the Europeans could indulge 
in the luxury — in India — of gathering around blazing 
wood fires after dinner. 

All, young and old, thoroughly enjoyed this almost 
[211] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

English-like Christmas — all except one. Burke^s 
attentions to Muriel became more marked and more 
full of meaning than they had ever been before; 
and it was patent that he intended to put his fate 
to the touch during this visit of hers. He did so 
without success, it seemed; for before she left there 
was an evident sense of constraint between them 
and they tried to avoid sitting beside each other or 
being left alone together, even for a moment. Shortly 
after the departure of the visitors Burke contrived 
to effect an exchange to another station, to the regret 
of all in the little outpost, and he was replaced by a 
young Scots surgeon, named Macdonald, his opposite 
in every way. 


[212] 


CHAPTER XI 


TRAGEDY 

The annual Durbar for the reception of the 
Bhutan Envoy and the payment of the subsidy had 
come and gone again. The Deb Zimpttn, who had 
not been accompanied by the Chinese Amhan on this 
occasion, had departed; and of the few European 
visitors only Muriel Benson remained. Colonel 
Dermot had been called away to Simla, to confer 
with officials of the Foreign Department on matters 
of frontier policy. Major Hunt was ill with fever, 
leaving Wargrave, who was still nominally attached 
to the Military Police, in command of the detach- 
ment. 

It was delicious torture to Frank to be in the 
same place again with Muriel, to see her from the 
parade ground or the Mess verandah playing in the 
garden with the children, to meet her every day and 
talk to her and yet be obliged to school his lips and 
keep them from uttering the words that trembled on 
them. 

A few nights after the Durbar he dined with Mrs. 
Dermot and Muriel and was sitting on the verandah 
of the Political Officer's house with them after 
dinner. He was wearing white mess uniform. The 
evening was warm and very still, and whenever the 
conversation died away, no sound save the mo- 

[213] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

notonous note of the nightjars or the sudden cry of 
a barking-deer, broke the silence since the echoes 
of the “Lights Out” bugle call had died away among 
the hills. 

Wargrave looked at his watch. 

“It’s past eleven o’clock,” he said. “I’d no idea it 
was so late. I ought to get up and say goodnight; 
but I’m so comfortable here, Mrs. Dermot.” 

His hostess smiled lazily at him but made no reply. 
Again a peaceful hush fell on them. 

With startling suddenness it was broken. From 
the Fort four hundred yards away a rifle-shot rang 
out, rending the silence of the night and reverberat- 
ing among the hills around. Wargrave sprang to 
his feet as shouts followed and a bugle shrilled out 
the soul-gripping “Alarm,” the call that sends a thrill 
through every soldier’s frame. For always it tells 
of disaster. Heard thus at night in barracks swift 
following on a shot it spoke of crime, of murder, 
the black murder of a comrade. 

The two women had risen anxiously. 

“What is it? Oh, what is it?” they asked. 

The subaltern spoke lightly to re-assure them. 

“Nothing much, I expect. Some man on guard 
fooling with his rifle let it off by accident,” he said 
quietly. “Excuse me. I’d better stroll across to the 
Fort and see.” 

But Mrs. Dermot stopped him. 

“Wait a moment please, Mr. Wargrave,” she said, 
[214] 


TRAGEDY 


running into the house. She returned immediately 
with her husband’s big automatic pistol and handed 
it to him. In her left hand she held a smaller one. 
“Take this with you. It’s loaded,” she said. 

Frank thanked her, said goodnight to both calmly, 
and walked down the garden path; but the anxious 
women heard him running swiftly across the parade 
ground. 

“What is it, Noreen? What does it mean?” asked 
the girl nervously. 

“A sepoy running amuck, I’m afraid,” replied her 
friend. “He’s shot someone — .” 

She swung round, pistol raised. 

^^Kohn hat? (Who’s that?)” she called out. 

A man had come noiselessly on to the shadowed 
end of the verandah. 

“It is I, mem-sahib answered Sher Afzul, her 
Punjaubi Mahommedan butler. He had been in 
her service for five years and was devoted to her 
and hers. He was carrying a rifle, for his master 
at his request had long ago given him arms to 
protect his mem-sahib. Before her marriage he had 
once fought almost to the death to defend her when 
her brother’s bungalow had been attacked by rebels 
during a rising. 

“It would be well to go into the house and put 
out the lights, mem-sahib he said quietly in Hin- 
dustani. “There is danger to-night.” 

As he spoke he extinguished the l^p on the 

[21s] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

verandah and closed the doors of the house. A 
second armed servant came quietly on to the veran- 
dah and the butler melted into the darkness of the 
garden; but they heard him go to the gate as if 
to guard it. 

‘‘You had better go inside, Muriel,” said Mrs. 
Dermot, but made no move to do so herself. 

The girl did not appear to hear her. She was 
listening intently for any sound from the Fort. 
But silence had fallen on it. 

“Muriel, won’t you go into the house?” repeated 
her hostess. 

“Eh? What? No, I couldn’t. I must stay here,” 
replied Miss Benson impatiently. In the black 
darkness the other woman could not see her; but 
she felt that the girl’s every sense was alert and 
strained to the utmost. She moved to her and put 
her arm about her. Against it she could feel Muriel’s 
heart beating violently. 

Suddenly from the Fort came the noise of heavy 
blows and a crash, instantly followed by a shot and 
then fierce cries. 

“Oh, my Godl What is happening?” murmured 
the girl, her hand on her heart. 

Presently there came the sound of running feet, 
and heavy boots clattered up the rocky road towards 
the Mess past the gate. 

Then the butler’s voice rang out in challenge: 

*‘Kohn jatha? (WTio goes there?)” 


TRAGEDY 


A panting voice answered: 

“Wargrave Sahib murgya. Doctor Sahib ko 
hulana ko jatha *' — (Wargrave Sahib is killed. I go 
to call the Doctor Sahib) — and the sepoy ran on in 
the darkness. 

God! O God!” cried the girl, and tried to 
break from her friend's clasp. “Let me go! Let 
me go!” 

“Where to?” asked Noreen, holding the frenzied 
girl with all her strength. 

‘^To him. He's dead. Didn't you hear? He's 
dead. I must go to him.” 

She struggled madly and beat fiercely at the 
hands that held her. 

“Let me go! Let me go! Oh, he's dead,” she 
wailed. “Dead. And I loved him so. Oh, be 
merciful! Let me go to him!” and suddenly her 
strength gave way and she collapsed into Noreen's 
arms, weeping bitterly. 

They heard the clattering steps meet others 
coming down the hill and a hurried conversation 
ensue. Noreen recognised one of the voices. Then 
both men came running down. 

“It's the doctor,” said Mrs. Dermot. “Come to 
the gate and we'll ^k him what has happened.” 

“Mr. Macdonald! Mr. Macdonald!” she cried 
as the hurrying footsteps drew near. 

“Who's that? Mrs. Dermot? For God's sake 
get into the house. There's a man running amuck. 

[217] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

Wargrave’s killed. I’m wanted”; and the doctor, 
taking no thought of danger to himself when there 
was need of his skill, ran on into the darkness. 

‘T must — I will go!” cried Muriel. 

‘‘Very well. Perhaps it’s not true. We must 
know. We may be able to help,” replied her friend. 

And with a word to Sher Afzul to guard her 
babies from danger she seized Muriel’s hand, and 
the two girls ran towards the Fort in the track that 
Wargrave had followed to his death, it seemed. 

s(c J|C :|c 3|C :|e SK 

Pistol in hand Wargrave had raced across the 
parade ground. At the gate of the Fort he was 
challenged; and when he answered an Indian officer 
came out of the darkness to him. 

“Sahib,” he said hurriedly. “Havildar Mahom- 
med Ashraf Khan has been shot in his bed in bar- 
racks. The sentry over the magazine is missing 
with his rifle.” 

Wargrave entered the Fort. Opposite the guard- 
room the detachment was falling in rapidly, the 
men carrying their rifles and running up from their 
barrack-rooms in various stages of undress. By 
the flickering light of a lantern held up for him a 
non-commissioned officer was calling the roll, and 
his voice rmnbled along in monotonous tones. The 
guard were standing under arms. 

“Put out that lamp ! ” cried the subaltern sharply. 
It would only serve to light up other marks for 
[218] 


TRAGEDY 


the invisible assassin if, like most men who run 
amok, he meant to keep on killing until slain him- 
self. ^'No; take it into the guard-room and shut 
the door.’' 

In the darkness the silence was intense, broken 
only by the heavy breathing of the unseen men 
and the clattering of the feet of some late-comer. 
Suddenly there rang out through the night the most 
appalling soimd that had ever assailed Wargrave’s 
ears. It was as the cry of a lost soul in all the agony 
of the damned, an eerie, unearthly wail that froze the 
blood in the listeners’ veins. In the invisible ranks 
men shuddered and clutched at their neighbours. 

*^Khvda ke Nam men, kiya hai? (In the Name 
of God, what is that?)” gasped the subaltern. 

The Indian officer at his side answered in a low 
voice: 

‘Tt is Ashraf KJian crying out in pain, Sahib. He 
is not yet dead.” 

*^Subhedar sahib, come with me,” said Wargrave. 
*‘Let your jemadar (lieutenant) take the men one 
by one into the guard-room and examine the rifles to 
see if any have been fired. We don’t know yet if 
the missing sentry did the deed.” 

The Subhedar (company commander) gave the 
order to his subordinate and followed Wargrave to 
the barrack-room in which the crime had been com- 
mitted. The sight that met the subaltern’s eyes was 
one that he was not easily to forget. 

[219] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

The high-roofed chamber was in darkness save 
at one end where a small lamp cast weird shadows on 
the walls and vaulting ceiling. At this end and under 
the flickering light a group of figures stood round a, 
bed on which a man was writhing in agony. He 
was struggling in delirious frenzy to hurl himself 
to the stone floor, and was only held down by the 
united efforts of three men. From a bullet wound 
in his bared chest the life-blood welled with every 
movement of his tortured body. He had been shot 
in the back as he lay asleep. The lips covered with 
a bloody froth were drawn back tightly over the 
white teeth clenched in agony, and red foam lay on 
the black beard. Out of the sweat-bathed, ghastly 
face the eyes glared in frenzy. The features were 
contorted with pain. Again and again the wild 
shrieks like the howl of a mad thing rang through the 
long room and out into the night. 

With tear-filled eyes and heart torn with pity 
Wargrave looked down at him in silence. Ashraf 
Khan was one of his best men. ‘^But where is the 
doctor sahib?” he asked the native officer suddenly. 

The subhedar stared and shook his head. In the 
excitement no one had thought of sending for the 
medical officer. Wargrave turned to one of the 
men around the bed. 

“Mahbub Khan, run hard to the Mess and call 
the doctor sahib. Here, stop!” He remembered 
that Macdonald did not possess a revolver. For all 
[220] 


TRAGEDY 


one knew he might encounter the murderer on his 
way. Wargrave thrust Mrs. Dermot^s pistol into the 
sepoy’s hand, saying, ‘‘Give the sahib that.” 

The man, who was barefoot, ran but of the cham- 
ber and went to his own barrack-room for his shoes, 
for the road was rocky and covered with sharp 
stones. The subaltern turned away with a sigh 
from the bedside of his poor comrade. He could do 
nothing now but avenge him. As he walked away 
from the group he trod on an empty cartridge case 
and picked it up. It had recently been fired. It 
told its tale; for it showed that the assassin had 
reloaded over his victim and intended that the kill- 
ing should not end there. If he were the missing 
sentry then he had nine more cartridges left — nine 
human lives in his blood-stained hand. And as the 
subaltern crossed the verandah outside the barrack- 
room the jemadar met him and reported that all the 
rifles of the detachment had been examined and 
found clean except the missing weapon of the sentry, 
a young Pa than sepoy called Gul Mahommed. It 
was remembered that the dying havildar (sergeant) 
had reprimanded him hotly on the previous day for 
appearing on parade with accoutrements dirty. So 
little a cause was needed to send a man to his death ! 

The first thing to be done now was to hunt for 
the murderer. While he went free no one’s life was 
safe. Wargrave shuddered at the thought of danger 
coming to Muriel or her friend, and he hoped that 
[221] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

they were safely shut in their house. It was sL 
difficult problem to know where to begin the search. 
The Fort was full of hiding-places, especially at 
night. And already the assassin might have escaped 
over the low wall surrounding it. As Wargrave stood 
perplexed another Indian officer ran up, accom- 
panied by two men with rifles. 

^^Sahib! Sahib he whispered excitedly. *^The 
murderer is in my room, the one next that in which 
Ashraf Kahn was shot. I left the door wide open 
when I ran out. It is now shut and bolted from 
the inside and someone is moving about in it.” 

The subaltern went along the verandah to the 
door and tried it. It was firmly fastened. 

“Here, sahib!” cried a sepoy who ran up with a 
comrade carrying a heavy log. 

^^Shahbash! (Well done!) Break in the door,” 
said Wargrave. 

Other men, who had come up, seized the long log 
and dashed it violently against the door. The bolt 
held, but the frail hinges gave way and the door 
fell in. 

“Stand back!” cried Wargrave. 

It seemed certain death to enter the room in 
which a murderer lurked in darkness, armed with 
a rifle and fixed bayonet and resolved to sell his 
life dearly. But the subaltern did not hesitate. 
He was the only sahib there and of course it was 
his duty to go in. He could not ask his men to risk 
[222] 


TRAGEDY 


a danger that he shirked himself. That is not the 
officer’s way, whose motto must ever be “Follow 
where I lead.” 

Wargrave sprang into the room unarmed. He 
was outlined against the faint light outside. A spurt 
of flame lit the darkness; and the subaltern, as he 
tripped over the raised threshold, felt that he was 
shot. He staggered on. A rifle lunged forward and 
the bayonet stabbed him in the side; but with a 
desperate effort he closed with his unseen assailant 
and grappled fiercely with him. Struggling to over- 
power the assassin before his ebbing strength left 
him he fought madly. The Indian officers and 
sepoys blocking up the doorway could see nothing; 
but they could hear the choking gasps, the panting 
breaths, the muttered curses and the stamping feet 
of the combatants locked in the death-grapple. 
They could not interfere, they dared not fire. In 
impotent fury they shouted: 

“Bring lamps ! Bring lamps I ” 

Then, groaning in their powerlessness to aid 
their beloved officer, they listened, as a light 
danced over the stones from a lantern in the hand 
of a running sepoy. The moment it came and lit 
up the scene they rushed on the murderer wrestling 
fiercely with Wargrave and dragged him off as the 
subaltern collapsed and fell to the ground. The 
glare of the lantern shone on his white face. 

“The sahib is dead!” cried a sepoy, and sprang 
[223] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

at the murderer who was struggling in the grip of 
the two powerfully-built Indian officers. Others 
followed him, and his captors had to fight hard and 
use all their authority to keep the prisoner from 
being killed by the bare hands of his maddened 
comrades. Only the arrival of the armed men of 
the guard saved him. 

Frenzied with grief the sepoys bent over their 
officer lying motionless and apparently dead on the 
stone floor. They loved him. Many of them wept 
openly and unashamed. The subhedar knelt beside 
him and opened his shirt. The blood had soaked 
through the white mess-jacket that Wargrave wore. 

The native officer looked up into the ring of brown 
faces bent over him. Suddenly he cried angrily: 

“Mahbub Khan, why hast thou not gone for the 
doctor sahib as thou wert told, O Son of an Owl?’’ 

The face staring in horror between the heads of 
the sepoys was hurriedly withdrawn, and Mahbub 
Khan, who had lingered to see the end of the tragedy, 
turned and pushed his way out of the crowd. 

Macdonald found the subaltern lying to all ap- 
pearances dead on the broken door out in the open, 
where they had gently carried him. 

‘‘Hold a light here,” he cried as he knelt down 
beside the body. 

By now a dozen lanterns or more lit up the 
scene. The doctor laid his ear against Wargrave’s 
chest and held a polished cigarette case to his lips. 

[224] 


TRAGEDY 

Then he pulled back the shirt to examine his 
injuries. 

^^Oh, is he dead? Is he dead?’’ cried a trembling 
voice. 

The doctor, looking up angrily, found Miss Benson 
and Mrs. Dermot standing over him. The sepoys 
had silently made way for them. 

‘‘You shouldn’t be here, ladies,” he said with justi- 
fiable annoyance. “This is no place for you. No; he’s 
not dead. And I hope and think that he won’t die.” 

“Oh, thank God I” cried the two women. 

The sepoys crowding round and hanging on the 
doctor’s verdict could not understand the words but 
saw the look of joyous relief on their faces and 
guessed the truth. A wild, confused cheer went up 
to the stars. 

“Mr. Macdonald,” said Mrs. Dermot bending 
over him again. “Will you bring him to my house? 
There is no accommodation for him in your little 
hospital, you know; and he’d have no one to look 
after him in the Mess. I can nurse him.” 

The doctor straightened himself on his knee and 
looked down at the unconscious man. 

“Yes, Mrs. Dermot, it’s a good idea,” he replied. 
“There is nowhere else where he’d get any atten- 
tion. My hands are full with Major Hunt. He’s 
taken a turn for the worse. His temperature went 
up dangerously high to-night; and he was almost 
delirious.” 


[225] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

He stood up. 

‘T can^t examine Wargrave properly here. He 
seems to be wounded in two places. But I hope it’s 
not — I mean, I think he’ll pull through. His pulse 
is getting stronger. I’ve put a first dressing on; and 
I think we can move him. Hi I stretcher idher lao, 
(Bring the stretcher here!)” 

Suddenly Wargrave opened his eyes and looked 
up in the doctor’s face. 

‘‘Is that you, Macdonald?” he asked dreamily. 
“Never mind me; I’m all right. Go to poor Ashraf 
Khan. If he must die, at least give him something 
to put him out of his misery. I can wait.” 

His voice trailed off, and he relapsed into uncon- 
sciousness. Ordering him to be carried away the 
doctor, after a word with the Indian officers, entered 
the barrack-room. It was useless. Ashraf Khan 
had just died. 

The crowd fell back in a wide circle to let the two 
hospital orderlies bring up the stretcher for War- 
grave and, as they did, left a group of men standing 
isolated in the centre. All of these were armed, 
except one whose hands were pinioned behind his 
back. His head was bare, his face bruised and 
bleeding, and his uniform nearly torn off his body. 
It needed no telling that he was the murderer. 

Miss Benson walked up to him with fierce eyes. 

“You dog!” she cried bitterly in Urdu. 

The man who had smiled defiantly when the hands 
[226] 


TRAGEDY 


of his raging comrades were seeking to tear the life 
out of his body and had shouted out his crime in 
their faces, cowered before the anger in the flaming 
eyes of this frail girl. He shrank back between his 
guards. The sepoys looking on howled like hungry 
wolves and, as Mrs. Dermot drew the girl back, made 
a rush for the murderer. The men of the guard 
faced them with levelled bayonets and ringed their 
prisoner round; and the sepoys fell back sullenly. 

Suddenly a shrill voice cried in Hindustani: 

“Make way! Make way there! What has 
happened?’’ 

The circle of men gapped and through the open- 
ing came Major Hunt, white-faced, wasted, shaking 
with fever and clad only in pyjamas and a great coat 
and with bare feet thrust into unlaced shoes. He 
staggered feebly in among them, revolver in hand. 

“Heaven and Earth! Is Wargrave dead?” he 
cried and tottered towards the stretcher. 

Suddenly the pistol dropped from his shaking 
hand and he fell forward on the stones before Mac- 
donald could catch him. 

“This is madness,” muttered the doctor. “It may 
kill him. I hoped he wouldn’t hear the alarm.” 

“Bring him to my house too,” said Mrs. Dermot. 

Another stretcher was fetched, the Major lifted 
tenderly into it, and the sad procession started, the 
sepoys falling back silently to make way. 

Major Hunt having been put to bed in one of the 
[227] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

guest-rooms of the Political Officer’s house, Macdon- 
ald, with the aid of the subaltern’s servant, undressed 
Wargrave and examined his injuries, Noreen holding 
a basin for him while Muriel, shuddering, carried 
away the blood-tinged water and brought fresh. The 
shot-wound, though severe, was not necessarily 
dangerous, and the bullet had not lodged in him. 
The doctor was relieved to find that the bayonet 
had not penetrated deeply but had only glanced 
along a rib, tearing the intercostal muscles and 
inflicting a long, jagged but superficial wound which 
bled freely. Indeed, the most serious matter was the 
great loss of blood, which had weakened the subal- 
tern considerably. 

Wargrave did not recover consciousness until 
early morning. When he opened his eyes they fell 
on Muriel sitting by his bed. He showed no sur- 
prise and the girl, scarce daring to believe that he was 
awake and knew her, did not venture to move. But 
as he continued to look steadily at her she gently 
laid her hand on his where it lay on the coverlet. 

Then in a weak voice he said: 

‘^Dearest, I mustn’t love you, I mustn’t. I’m 
bound in honour — Abound to another woman and I 
must play the game. It’s hard sometimes. But if 
I die I want you to know I loved you, only you.” 

Her heart seemed to stop suddenly, then beat 
again with redoubled force. Was he conscious? 
Was he speaking to her? Did he know what his 
[228] 


TRAGEDY 


words meant? She waited eagerly for him to con- 
tinue; but his hand closed on hers in a weak grip 
and, shutting his eyes, he seemed to sleep. The girl 
sank on her knees beside the bed and stared at the 
pale face that in those few hours had grown so 
hollow and haggard. Did he really love her? The 
thought was joy — until the damning memory of his 
other words recurred to her and a sharp pain pierced 
her heart. There was another woman then — one 
who held his promise. Who was she? He could 
not be secretly married, surely; no, it must be that 
he was engaged to some other girl. But he loved 
her — her, Muriel. He wanted to say so, he had 
said so, though he strove to hold back, in honour 
bound. He would play the game — ah! that he 
would do at any cost to himself. For she knew 
his chivalrous nature. But he loved her — she 
was sure of it. Then the doubts came again — 
did he know what he was saying? Was it perhaps 
only delirium that spoke, the fever of his wounds? 
The girl suffered an agony worse than death as 
she knelt beside the bed, her forehead on his hand. 
And Noreen, entering softly an hour later, found her 
still crouched there, weeping bitterly but silently. 

Shortly after sunrise Macdonald entered the 
house, wan and haggard, for he had not been to 
bed all night. Besides the hours that he had spent 
with his patients he had been busy in the Fort all 
night. He had to make an autopsy of the dead man, 
[229] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

and, as the only officer available, investigate the 
crime, examine the witnesses and the prisoner who 
calmly confessed his guilt, and telegraph the news 
of the occurrences to Regimental, Divisional and 
Army Headquarters. He found Major Hunt sleep- 
ing peacefully; but Wargrave woke as he tiptoed 
into the room and looked up at him, at first not 
seeing the women. He was fully conscious and 
asked eagerly for an account of what had happened. 
Noreen and Muriel shuddered at the delight with 
which he heard of the murderer’s capture; for they 
were too tender-hearted to understand his passionate 
desire to avenge the cruel slaying of one of his men. 
When he turned away from Macdonald and saw Mu- 
riel his eyes shone eagerly for a moment, then seemed 
to dull as memory returned to him. He begged Mrs. 
Dermot to forgive him for upsetting her domestic 
arrangements by his intrusion into the house. 

Later in the morning Noreen was sitting alone 
with him, having sent Muriel to lie down for a 
couple of hours. She had not been to bed herself, 
but after a bath and a change of clothing had given 
her children their breakfast and bidden them make 
no noise, because their beloved “Fwankie” was lying 
ill in the house. Yet she could not forbear to smile 
when she saw the portentous gravity with which 
Eileen tiptoed out into the garden to tell Badshah 
the news and order him to be very quiet. 

Now, looking fresh and bright, she sat beside 

[230] 


TRAGEDY 


Wargrave^s bed. Since the doctor had left him 
he had lain thinking. He felt that Violet must be 
informed at once that he had been hurt but was in 
no danger, lest she might learn of the occurrence 
through another source and believe him to be worse 
than he really was. As he looked at Mrs. Dermot 
the desire to ask her instead of Macdonald if she 
would be the one to communicate with Mrs. Norton 
grew overwhelming, and he felt that he wanted to 
confide to her the whole story, sure that she would 
understand. And she could tell Muriel — for he had 
been quite conscious when he had spoken to the 
girl in the morning. It was only right that she 
should know the truth, but he shrank from telling 
it to her himself. 

So he opened his heart to Noreen; and the under- 
standing little woman listened sympathisingly and 
made no comment, and undertook to explain the 
situation to Muriel. So, an hour or two later, when 
Macdonald was again with the subaltern, she went 
to her friend^s room and told her the whole story. 

The girFs first feeling was anger at the thought 
of Frank making love to a married woman. 

“Seems to me it’s the married woman who made 
it to him, from what I can gather,” said Noreen, 
a little annoyed with Muriel for her way of receiv- 
ing the story. “He did not say so, but it was easy 
to guess the truth. Now, my dear, don’t be ab- 
surd. Men are not angels; and if a pretty woman 

[231] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

flings herself at the head of one of them it’s hard 
for him to keep her at arm’s length. And you’ve 
seen yourself in Darjeeling how some of them, the 
married ones especially, do chase them.” Her eyes 
grew hard as she continued, ^T remember how 
Kevin once was .” Then she stopped. 

^‘But Frank I How could he? Oh, how could 
he? And he loved her,” sobbed the girl. 

‘‘Don’t be silly, Muriel. I tell you I don’t be- 
lieve he ever did. He loves you now.” 

“Oh, do you think he does? What am I to do?” 

“Nothing. Merely go along as you’ve been doing. 
Just be friendly. And don’t be hard on him. He’s 
had a bad time. I’ve always felt that there was 
something troubling him. Now I know; and I’m 
not going to let him ruin himself and throw away 
his happiness for a woman who’s not worth it. 
He’s the nicest, cleanest-minded man I’ve known 
after Kevin and my brother. He saved my babies, 
and for that I’d do anything for him. I feel almost 
as if he were one of my children; and I’ll stand by 
him if you won’t.” 

“Oh, but I will, I will,” cried the girl. “But how 
can I help him?” 

“As I said, by acting as if nothing had happened 
and just keeping on being friends. It oughtn’t to 
be hard. See how he’s suffering and think how 
brave he’s been. Remember, he loves you; and you 
do care for him, don’t you? I’ve an idea that he 
[232] 


TRAGEDY 


hopes that this woman is tiring of him and may 
set him free. Of course he didn’t say as much, 

but She nodded sagely. Her intuition had 

told her more of his feelings in a minute than 
Frank had dared to acknowledge to himself in many 
months. ‘‘Anything I can do to help to bring that 
about I will.” 

The days went by; and Wargrave, aided by his 
clean living, the devoted nursing that he received, 
and the cool, healthy mountain air, began to mend. 
Major Hunt had recovered and returned to duty, 
relieving the officer sent from Headquarters to 
command during his illness. Colonel Dermot had 
come back from Simla with Frank’s appointment to 
the Political Department as his assistant in his 
pocket. The murdered man had long ago been 
laid to rest by his comrades; but his slayer still sat 
fettered in the one cell of the Fort awaiting the 
assembling of the General Court Martial for his 
trial, and seeing from his barred window the even 
routine of the life that had been his for three years 
still going on, but with no place in it for him. 

The period of Wargrave’s convalescence was a 
very happy time for him. Muriel had remained a 
whole month after the eventful night; for Mrs. 
Dermot declared that, with the care of her house 
and children, she had no time to nurse the subaltern, 
and the girl must stay to do it while he was in any 
danger. So she lingered in the station to do him 

[233] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

willing service, wait on him, chat or read to him, 
give him her arm when he was first allowed to leave 
his room, and did it all with the bright, cheerful 
kindness of a friend, no more. She never alluded 
to his words to her; but her patient somehow guessed 
that she had not been angered by the revelation 
of the state of his feelings towards her. And from 
the tenderness of her manner to him, the imconscious 
jealousy that she displayed if anyone but she did 
any service for him, he began to half hope, half fear, 
that she cared a little for him in return. But even 
as he thought this he realised that he must not allow 
her to do so. 

At last the time came when she had to return to 
her father down in the vast forest; and bravely as 
she said good-bye to everyone — and most of all to 
Frank — the tears blinded her as she sat on the back 
of the elephant that bore her away and saw the 
hills close in and shut from her gaze the little station 
that held her heart. 

Wargrave, however, was not left to pine in lone- 
liness after her departure. All day long, if they 
were allowed, the children stayed with him, Eileen 
smothering him with caresses at regular intervals. 
They told him their doings, confided their dear- 
est secrets to him and demanded stories. And 
‘Twankie” racked his brains to recall the fairy tales 
of his own childhood to repeat to the golden-haired 
mites perched on his bed and gazing at him in awed 

[234] 


TRAGEDY 


fascination, the girl uttering little shrieks at all the 
harrowing details of the wicked deeds of Giant 
Blunderbore and the cruel deceit of the wolf that 
devoured Red Ridinghood. 

But the subaltern had a, grimmer visitor one 
day. The orders came at last for Gul Mahommed 
to be sent to Calcutta to stand his trial without 
waiting for Wargrave’s recovery, the latter’s evi- 
dence being taken on commission. The prisoner 
begged that he might be allowed to see the wounded 
officer before he left; and, Frank having consented, 
he was brought to the subaltern’s bedroom when 
he was marched out of the Fort on the first stage 
of his journey to the gallows. 

It was a dramatic scene. The stalwart young 
Pathan in uniform with his wrists handcuffed stood 
with all the bold bearing of his race by the bedside 
of the man that he had tried to kill, while two power- 
ful sepoys armed with drawn bayonets hemmed 
him in, their hands on his shoulders. 

The prisoner looked for a moment at the pale 
face of the wounded man, then his bold eyes suf- 
fused with tears as he said: 

*^Huzoor! (The Presence!) I am sorry. Had 
I known that night it was Your Honour I would 
not have lifted my rifle against you. The Sahib 
has always been good to me, to all of us. My enemy 
I slew, as we of the Puktana must do to dl who 
insult us. That deed I do not regret.” 

[235] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

Wargrave looked up sorrowfully at the splendidly- 
built young fellow — ^barely twenty-one — ^who had 
only done as he had been taught to do from his 
cradle. Among Pathans blood only can wash away 
the stain of an insult. The officer felt no anger 
against him for his own injuries and regretted that 
false notions of honour had led him to kill a com- 
rade and were now sending him to a shameful death. 

‘T am sorry, Gul Mahommed, very sorry,” he 
said. ‘‘You were always a good soldier, and now 
you must die.” 

The Pathan drew himself up with all the haughty 
pride of his race. 

‘T do not fear death. Sahib. They will give me 
the noose. But my father can spare me. He has 
five other sons to fight for him. If only the Sahib 
would forgive .” 

Wargrave, much moved, held out his hand to 
him. The prisoner touched it with his manacled 
ones, then raised his fingers to his forehead. 

“For your kindness. Sahib, salaam!^* 

Then he turned and walked proudly out of the 
room and Wargrave heard the tramp of heavy 
feet on the rocky road outside as the prisoner was 
marched away on the long trail to the gallows. 
Two months later Gul Mahommed was hanged in 
the courtyard of Alipur jail in Calcutta before 
detachments of all the regiments garrisoning the city. 

The subaltern had long chafed at the restraint 
[236] 


TRAGEDY 


of an invalid before Macdonald took him off the 
sick-list and he was free to wander again with 
Colonel Dermot in the forest and among the moun- 
tains. Before the hot weather ended Raymond came 
to spend three weeks with him and be initiated into 
the delights of sport in the great jungle. 

When the long imprisonment of the rains came 
Wargrave began to suffer in health; for his wounds 
had sapped his strength more than he knew and 
Macdonald shook his head over him. Nor was he 
the only invalid; for little Brian grew pale and list- 
less in the mists that enveloped the outpost con- 
stantly now, until finally the doctor decreed that 
his mother, much as she hated parting from her 
husband and her home, must take the children to 
Darjeeling. And he ordered the subaltern to go 
too. Frank did not repine, after Mrs, Dermot had 
casually intimated that Muriel Benson was arrang- 
ing to join her at the railway station and accompany 
her on a long visit to Darjeeling. 

It was Wargrave’s first introduction to a hill- 
station; and everything was a delightful novelty 
to him, from the quaint little train that brought 
them up the seven thousand feet to their destina- 
tion in the pretty town of villas, clubs and hotels 
in the mountains, to the glorious panorama of the 
Eternal Snows and Kinchin junga’s lofty crests that 
rise like fairyland into the sky at early dawn and 
under the brilliant Indian moon. 

[237] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

As Mrs. Dermot could not often leave her children 
it was Muriel, who knew Darjeeling well, who be- 
came his guide. Together every day they set out 
from their hotel, together they scaled the heights 
of Jalapahar or rode down to watch the polo on the 
flat hill-top of Lebong, a thousand feet below. To- 
gether they explored the fascinating bazaar and 
bought ghost-daggers and turquoises in the quaint 
little shops. Together they went on picnics down 
into the deep valleys on the way to Sikkhim. They 
played tennis, rinked or danced together at the 
Amusement Club; and the ladies at the tea-tables 
in the great lounge smiled significantly and 
whispered to each other as the good-looking fair man 
and the pretty, dark-haired girl came in together 
when the light was fading on the mountains. Frank 
forgot cares. He ceased to brood unhappily — for 
it had come to that — on Violet, who, as her rare 
letters told him, had spent the Hot Weather in the 
Bombay hill-station of Mahableshwar and was now 
enjoying life during the Rains in gay Poona. She 
seldom wrote, and then but scrappily; and it seemed 
to him certain that she was forgetting him. And he 
felt ashamed at the joy which filled him at the 
thought. Was he always destined to be only the 
friend of the girl he loved, the lover of the woman 
to whom he wished to be a friend? 


CHAPTER XII 


‘‘rooted in dishonour’’ 

Government House, Ganeshkind, outside Poona, 
the residence of the Governor of Bombay during the 
Rains, was blazing with light and gay with the sound 
of music; for His Excellency was giving a fancy 
dress ball. Motors and carriages were still rolling up 
in a long line to the entrance where the gorgeously- 
clad Indian Cavalry soldiers of the Governor’s Body- 
guard — tall and stately back-bearded men in long 
scarlet tunics, white breeches and high black boots, 
their heads swathed in gaudy loongies (turbans) 
with tails streaming down their backs, holding steel- 
headed bamboo lances with red and white pennons 
in their white-gauntleted right hands — ^lined the 
approach. Inside, the splendid ballroom, ablaze 
with electric lights, was crowded with gaily-dressed 
figures in costumes beautiful or bizarre. The good- 
looking, middle-aged baron who was the King’s 
representative in the Bombay Presidency was stand- 
ing, dressed as Charles II., beside his plain but 
pleasant-featured wife in the garb of Amy Robsart, 
receiving the last of their guests, while already the 
dancing had begun. 

Later in the evening a group of officers in varied 

[239] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

costumes stood near one of the entrances criticising 
the dresses and the company. 

George, that’s a magnificent kit,” said a 
Garrison Gunner just arrived on short leave from 
Bombay. ‘What’s it supposed to be?” 

“A Polish hussar, I think,” replied a subaltern in 
Wellesley’s Rifles. 

“No, he’s Murat, Napoleon’s cavalry leader,” said 
an Indian Lancer captain. 

The wearer of the costume alluded to was passing 
them in a waltz. He was a young man in a splendid 
old-time hussar uniform, a scarlet dolman thick- 
laced with gold, a fur-trimmed slung pelisse, tight 
scarlet breeches embroidered down the front of the 
thighs in gold, and long red Russian leather boots 
with gold tassels. He was good-looking, but not in 
an English way, and the swarthiness of his com- 
plexion and a slight kink in his dark hair seemed to 
hint a trace of coloured blood. He was plainly 
Israelite in appearance; and the large nose with the 
unmistakable racial curved nostril would become 
bulbous with years, the firm cheeks flabby and the 
plump chin double. 

“That dress cost some money. I’ll bet,” said the 
Gunner, cheaply attired as a Pierrot. “Just look at 
the gold lace. I say, he’s got glass buttons.” 

“Glass be hanged, Fergie, they’re diamonds. Real 
diamonds, honour bright, Murat wore diamonds. 
He was buckin’ about them in the Club to-night,” 
[240] 


^‘ROOTED IN DISHONOUR’^ 

said a captain in a British infantry regiment 
quartered in Poona. ‘‘That^s Rosenthal of the 2nd 
Hussars from Bangalore. Son of old Rosenthal the 
South African multi-millionaire. A Sheeny, of 
course.^^ 

^‘Who’s the woman he’s dancing with?” asked the 
Gunner. “Jolly good-looking she is.” 

“That’s Mrs. Norton, wife of a Political some- 
where in the Presidency. Rosenthal’s always in her 
pocket since he met her at Mahableshwar.” 

As the dance ended the many couples streamed 
out of the ballroom and made for the kala juggas — 
the “black places,” as the sitting-out spots are ap- 
propriately termed in India from the carefully- 
arranged lack of light in them. Mrs. Norton, look- 
ing very lovely as Mary, Queen of Scots, and her 
partner crossed the verandah and went out into the 
unlit garden in search of seats. The first few they 
stumbled on were already occupied, a fact that the 
darkness prevented them from realising until they 
almost sat down on the occupants. At last in a 
retired corner of the garden Rosenthal found a 
bench in a recess in the wall. As they seated them- 
selves he blurted out roughly: 

“I’m sick of all this, Vi. When do you mean to 
give me your answer? I’m damned if I’m going to 
hang on waiting much longer. I’m fed up with 
India and the Army. I mean to cut it all.” 

“Well, Harry, what do you want?” asked his 

[241] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

companion, smiling in the darkness at his 
vehemence. 

“Want? You. And you know it. I want to take 
you away from this rotten country. What’s all 
this — he waved his hand towards the lighted ball- 
room, “compared to Paris, Monte Carlo, Cairo, 
Ostend when the races are on? Let’s go where life is 
worth living. This is stagnation.” 

“Oh, I find it amusing. You forget, we women 
have a better time in India than in Europe. There 
are too many of us there, so you don’t value us.” 

“Better time. Oh, Law! What rot!” He 
laughed rudely. “You’ve never lived yet, dear. 
Look here, Vi. My father’s one of the three richest 
men in South Africa; and all he’s got will come to 
me some day. As it is he gives me an allowance 
bigger than those of all the other men in the regi- 
ment put together. I hate the Service and its idiotic 
discipline. I want to be free — to go where money 
counts. Damn India!” 

“Doesn’t it count everywhere?” she asked, 
fanning herself lazily. His rough, almost boor- 
ish, manner amused her always. She felt as if 
she were playing with a caged tiger. “Doesn’t it 
here?” 

“No; in the Army they seem to think more of 
some damned pauper who comes of a ‘county 
family,’ as they call it, than of a fellow like me who 
could buy up a dozen of them. I hate them all. And 
[242] 


‘‘ROOTED IN DISHONOUR” 

I mean to chuck it. But I want you to come with me, 
Vi. And, what’s more, I mean to have you.” 

“But your father wishes you to stay in the 
Service. You told me so yourself. Will he like it if 
you leave — ^and will be continue your allowance?” 

“Oh, I’ll get round him. He’s only got me. He’s 
no one else to leave his money to. It’d be all right, 
Vi. Answer me. I mean to get you.” 

He grasped her wrist and tried to drag her towards 
him. She laughed and held him off. 

“Take care, my dear boy. Darkness has ears. 
We’re not alone in the garden, please remember. 
If you can’t behave prettily I’m going back to the 
ballroom. Come, there’s the music beginning again.” 

He tried to seize her in his arms, but she eluded 
his grasp with a dexterity that argued practice, and, 
rising, moved across the grass. He followed sulkily, 
dominated by her cool and careless indifference. 
When they reached the verandah one of the Govern- 
ment House aides-de-camp rushed up to her. 

“Oh, Mrs. Norton, I’ve been hunting for you 
ever5rwhere. I’ve a message from His Excellency. 
He wants you to come to his table at supper and save 
him from the Members of Council’s awful wives.” 

“Oh, thanks. Captain Gardner, I’ll come with 
pleasure,” she answered, smiling prettily on him. 
An A.D.C. is always worth cultivating. 

“I say, is it hopeless asking you for a dance now?” 
he said. “We poor devils of the Staff don’t get a 

[243] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

chance at the beginning of the evening, as we’re so 
busy introducing people to Their Excellencies.” 

She looked at her programme. 

‘‘You can have this, if you like. It’s only with 
some Indian Civilian in spectacles; and I hate the 
Heaven Born. They’re such bores.” She smiled 
and sailed off on the A.D.C.’s arm to the disgust 
of Rosenthal, calmly abandoned. But he could not 
help being amused when a round-faced young man 
dressed as an ancient Greek with gig-lamp spectacles 
rushed up to overtake Mrs. Norton before she 
entered the ballroom, and stopped in dismay to gaze 
after her open-mouthed and peer at his programme. 

But the Hussar drove her back from Government 
House to Poona in his particularly luxurious Rolls- 
Royce with an English chauffeur and would hardly 
let her go when the car drew up before the door of 
the Munster Hotel where she was staying. Laugh- 
ing, crushed and dishevelled, she broke from him 
and jumped out of the automobile, ran up the 
verandah steps and turned to wave to him as the 
chauffeur started off to take him to his quarters in 
the Club of Western India. 

Still smiling Violet stumbled up the unlighted 
stairs and reached her sitting-room. When she 
turned up the lamp a letter lying on the table caught 
her eyes. She picked it up indifferently; but when 
she saw that it bore the handwriting of one of her 
Calcutta cousins and the Darjeeling postmark she 

[244] 


ROOTED IN DISHONOUR’ 


tore it open eagerly and ran her eye rapidly down 
the pages. She came to the lines: 

^T have seen the man you asked me about. He is 
always with a girl called Benson, rather a pretty little 
thing. She is popular with all the men; but Mr. War- 
grave seems to be the favourite. They are staying at 
the same hotel, and everyone says they are engaged.^^ 

Then the writer went on to talk of family matters. 
But Violet read no more. Her eyes flamed with 
anger as she crumpled the paper up, flung it on the 
floor and stamped it under foot. She paced the 
room angrily, tearing the lace handkerchief she 
held in her hands to shreds. This, then, was Frank’s 
loyalty to her, this was how he consoled himself for 
her absence. With this chit of a girl, with whom he 
probably laughed at her, Violet’s, readiness to give 
up reputation, good fame, home, for him. She 
almost sobbed with jealous rage at the idea. She 
forgot her own infidelities and want of remembrance 
and felt herself to be a deceived and much-abused 
woman. But she would not bear such treatment 
meekly. Frank was hers; no other woman had a 
right to him, should ever have him. She was resolved 
on that. She stopped and, picking up the letter, 
smoothed it out and re-read it. Then, frowning, she 
passed into her bedroom and tore off her costume. 
Not for an instant did she sleep during the remainder 
of the night, but tossed on her bed, revolving plans 
of vengeance. 

[245] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

Next day she was seated in the train on her way 
to Darjeeling, a journey that would take days. She 
had telegraphed fruitlessly for a room at the Oriental 
Hotel at which she knew from his letters that Frank 
was sta5dng; but she had secured one at the larger 
Eastern Palace where her Calcutta relatives were 
residing. Only on the second day of her journey 
did she wire to Wargrave, bidding him meet her on 
her arrival. 

As the train carried her across India her heart was 
still filled with anger, jealousy and almost hate of 
the man whom she had favoured above all others and 
who spurned her, dared to be faithless to her, it 
seemed. She did not know how much love she had 
left for him; for his image had grown dim in the 
flight of time and among the distractions of gayer 
stations than Rohar. Certainly she had flirted her- 
self, flirted recklessly; but that was a different matter 
to his faithlessness. She might do it; but he must 
not. Did she want him? She hardly knew. But 
she was not going to be put aside for this tiger-killing 
young person, this jungle girl, who must be taught 
not to trespass on Violet’s property. 

Then her mind went back to Rosenthal; and 
in the solitude of the ladies’ compartment she laughed 
aloud at the thought of the shock that his self- 
sufficiency must have received when he learned of 
her sudden and mysterious disappearance from 
Poona. For she had left him no word. It would 
[246] 


ROOTED IN DISHONOUR” 


do him good; he needed a lesson, for he was too sure 
of her. She had never troubled to analyse her 
feelings for him and did not know whether she liked 
or hated him most. She saw his faults clearly, his 
blatant conceit, his irritating belief in the supremacy 
of money, his arrogance, his bad manners. She knew 
that men deemed him a bounder. But his very 
boorishness, his savage outbreaks against con- 
ventionality, attracted her. Under the thin veneer 
of civilisation, he was simply an animal; she knew it 
and it appealed to her baser nature, the sensual 
strain in her. That he was beast, and wild beast at 
that, did not affright her; she felt that she could 
always dominate him when she would. Once or 
twice the beast had come out into the open; but she 
had driven it back with a whip — and she believed 
that she could always do it. The wealth, the life of 
luxury that he offered, appealed to her strongly;} 
but she kept her head and remembered that he was 
dependent on his father^s bounty, and she had no 
intention of compromising herself irretrievably 
under such circumstances. If he had the disposal 
of the old man^s immense riches then the temptation 
might be over-powering; but until he had she would 
wait. And ever the memory of Wargrave obtruded 
itself, rather to her annoyance; but angry as she 
was with him she could not pretend to herself that 
she was indifferent to him. 

Up in Darjeeling on the very day that she left 

[247] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

Poona Frank sat with Miss Benson under a massive, 
orchid-clad tree in the lovely Botanical Gardens, 
gazing moodily down into the depths of the valley 
far below them. Turning suddenly he found 
his companion looking at him. Something in 
her eyes moved him strongly and he forgot his 
caution. 

“Muriel, you know how it is with me,” he said 
impetuously. “I oughtn’t to say anything; but — 
well, all the men here run after you, and I can’t 
bear it. I’m a fool, I know, but I can’t help being 
jealous. I’m always afraid that some one of them 
will take you from me. The other woman seems to 
be forgetting me completely. She hasn’t written to 
me for weeks, months. Surely she’s tiring of me. I 
don’t suppose she ever really cared for me — ^just 
was bored in that dull station. If — if she sets me 
free would you — could you ever like me well enough 
to marry me?” 

The girl looked away over the valley and a little 
smile crept into her eyes. Then she turned to him 
and laid her hand on his. 

“Dear boy, if you were free I would,” she 
answered. 

They were all alone, no one to see them; and 
his arms went out to her. But she drew back. 

“Not yet, dear. You’re another woman’s 
property still,” she said. 

He bit his lip. 


[248] 


^‘ROOTED IN DISHONOUR’^ 

^^Yes, you’re right, sweetheart. But — ^well, even 
if I weren’t, I haven’t much to offer you. I’m still 
in debt; and I’d be only condemning you to pass 
all your existence in the jungle.” 

“There’d be no hardship in that, dear. I love the 
forest better than anywhere else in the world. Life 
in it is happiness to me.” 

‘‘But would you be content to live as Mrs. Dermot 
does?” 

“Content? I’d love it better than anything else, 
if I were with you.” 

Then he forgot her reproof and she her high- 
minded resolves as his arms went round her and he 
drew her to him until their lips met in a long, 
passionate kiss. Afterwards they sat hand in hand 
and talked of what the future would hold for them 
if only Fate were kind. And Mrs. Norton, speed- 
ing across India to shatter their dream-world, smiled 
a little grimly as she pictured to herself her meeting 
with Frank. 

Next day the blow fell. Wargrave was sitting at 
lunch with Mrs. Dermot and Muriel in the hotel 
dining-room when Violet’s telegram was handed to 
him. His companions could see that he had received 
bad news; but he pulled himself together and said 
nothing about it until he was alone with Mrs. Der- 
mot in her private sitting-room after tiffin. Then he 
exclaimed suddenly, handing her the telegram: 

“She’s on her way here.” 

[249] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

Noreen understood even before she looked at the 
paper. When she read the message she asked: 

‘What’s she coming here for?” 

“I don’t know. I haven’t had a letter from her for 
a long time,” he replied wearily. 

“What are you going to do about her?” 

“What can I?” he said with a gesture of despair. 
“It’s for her to decide. If she wishes it I must keep 
my word.” 

“But Muriel? What of her? You know she cares 
for you. Has she no right to be considered?” 
demanded her friend impatiently. “Are you going 
to ruin her life as well as yours? This woman will 
only drag you down. She can’t really be fond of you 
or she wouldn’t forget you as she’s been doing. You 
don’t love her. Don’t you see what it will all mean 
to you? — to be pilloried in the Divorce Court, made 
to pay enormous costs, perhaps heavy damages as 
well. And even now you say you’re in debt. And 
then to be chained for life to a woman you don’t 
care about while you’re in love with another. Oh, 
Mr. Wargrave, do be sensible. Tell her the truth. 
Tell her you can’t go on with it.” 

“I’ve given her my word,” he said simply. 

She pleaded with him passionately, but to no avail. 
At last, as Muriel entered the room, she rose, say- 
ing: 

“Tell her. I’ll not mention the subject again.” 

And she walked indignantly into her bed- 

[250] 


ROOTED IN DISHONOUR’ 


room and shut the door almost with a bang; for the 
little woman was furious with him for what she 
deemed his crass stupidity. 

“What^s the matter with Noreen?” asked the girl 
in surprise. 

Without a word he gave her the telegram. 

‘^Oh Frank!” she gasped, and sank overwhelmed 
into a chair, letting the fatal paper flutter to the 
floor. 

He did not go to her but stood by the window, the 
image of despair, gazing out with unseeing eyes. 

‘What am I to do?” he asked miserably. 

“You must keep your word if she wishes it,” 
answered the girl bravely. 

But the next moment she broke down and, bury- 
ing her face in her hands, wept bitterly. He made no 
move to her; and she rose and went quietly back 
to her own room. 

In the interval that elapsed before Violet’s arrival 
Mrs. Dermot did not abandon hope, and in spite of 
her words she attacked Wargrave persistently, try- 
ing to shake his resolution. But to her despair 
Muriel sided with him and declared that he was 
right. So finally Noreen gave it up and vowed that 
she would wash her hands of the whole affair. 

When Violet reached Darjeeling Wargrave met 
her at the railway station. Face to face with him 
her anger died and something of the attraction he 
had had for her revived. So she greeted him 

[251] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

effusively and all but embraced him on the platform. 
Other men seeing the meeting wondered why he 
looked so miserable when such a lovely woman 
evinced her delight at seeing him so plainly. She 
passed her arm through his with an air of possession 
and chatted volubly while he watched his servant 
help hers to collect her luggage. When she took her 
seat in the dandy, or chair carried on the shoulders 
of coolies, and was being conveyed towards her hotel 
she behaved as though they had not been parted a 
week, rattled on gaily about her doings in Poona and 
Mahableshwar and, with all the glories of the 
Himalayas about her, declared that the Bombay hill- 
station was far lovelier than Darjeeling. Wargrave 
was relieved that she showed no desire to be senti^ 
mental and gladly responded to her mood, detailing 
the forthcoming gaieties and promising to take her 
to them all. 

When they reached the Eastern Palace Hotel and 
were shown up into her private sitting-room she put 
her hands on his shoulders as soon as they were alone 
and said: 

“Let me look at you, Frank. You have improved. 
YouVe grown handsomer, I think. Aren’t you going 
to kiss me?” 

He did it with so little fervour that she made a! 
grimace and thought “It’s quite time that I came to 
bring him to heel. Not much loving ardour about 

[252] 


‘‘ROOTED IN DISHONOUR’’ 

that. I wonder if he kisses the jungle girl as coldly.” 
Aloud she said: 

“Now let’s go down to tiffin, I’m starving. Will 
you please secure a table and I’ll follow you in a few 
minutes?” 

During the meal she chattered gaily, criticised the 
dresses and appearance of the other women in the 
dining-room and, chaffing him merrily on his want 
of appetite, ate a substantial meal herself. Mrs. 
Dermot, anxious to befriend him, had thought that 
she could help him by inviting him to bring Mrs. 
Norton to tea with her that afternoon. When during 
tiffin he hesitatingly conveyed the invitation Violet 
said: 

“Oh, I don’t want to be bothered with women, my 
dear boy. Take me out and show me the place and 
the shops and the Gymkhana — what do you call it 
here? Oh, the Amusement Club. No, stop a minute. 
Mrs. Dermot is your dear friend from Ranga Duar, 
isn’t she? So she’s here. And the other, the jungle 
girl, where is she?” 

Frank flushed as he replied: 

“I suppose you mean Miss Benson? She’s with 
Mrs. Dermot.” 

“So you’re all staying at the same hotel. How 
very nice for you! But, my dear Frank, doesn’t it 
strike you that it’ll be rather dull for me staying by 
myself here? You’ll have to change to this hotel.” 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

‘T asked about rooms here; but they told me 
Wiey^re full up now.’’ 

^T’ll see if I can’t get round the manager and 
make him find a corner for you. Well, now for this 
tea-party. Yes; on second thoughts I’ll go. I’d 
like to see the ladies who’ve been consoling you for 
my absence.” 

‘^Oh, nonsense, Violet. They haven’t. They’re 
just friends, that’s all,” he said irritably. 

“Of course, dear; I know. Well, tell me what 
these ‘just friends’ are like.” 

She certainly derived little idea of them from 
Wargrave’s lame attempt at description. And when 
later she and he were shown into Mrs. Dermot’s 
sitting-room at tea-time Noreen and Muriel found 
his picture of her as a meek, long-suffering, neglected 
wife very unlike the radiant, condescending lady 
who patronised them from the start. She showed a 
tendency to address most of her conversation to 
the girl, despite the latter’s evident disinclination to 
talk, or perhaps because of it; for the older woman 
seemed to take an impish delight in teasing her about 
her friendship with Wargrave and their relations 
as nurse and patient, although it was apparent that 
her malicious humour made the others uncomfort- 
able. She paraded her authority over Frank and 
treated him like a henpecked husband. When finally 
she bore him away to escort her to the Amusement 
Club she left the two girls speechless behind her. 

[254] 


ROOTED IN DISHONOUR’ 


But not for the same reason. Noreen was furious, 

‘‘What a hateful woman!” she exclaimed as soon 
as her visitor departed. “And I pitied her as 
a poor neglected wife! What do you think of 
her?” 

Muriel only shook her head, as she sat looking 
despondent and thoroughly miserable. Mrs. Nor- 
ton’s malice affected her little, but her undoubted 
loveliness had made her despair. How could an 
insignificant little person like herself, she thought, 
hope to win affection from any man whom this 
radiant beauty deigned to favour? Frank could not 
help adoring so attractive a woman. He must have 
loved her in Rohar, although he said that he had not. 
Muriel felt that she could have resigned herself 
more easily to his keeping his word to Violet, if the 
latter had been less good-looking. 

Mrs. Dermot broke in on her miserable thoughts. 

“Come, dear, we’ll take the children for their walk 
and then go on later to the Amusement Club.” 

“I couldn’t go to the Club this evening, Noreen. 
I really couldn’t. We’d only see that woman again 
— ^with Frank.” 

“Well, what of it? We’re not going to let her 
think we’re afraid to face her. I’ve no patience 
with Mr. Wargrave. Whatever he can see in her 
I can’t think. You’re worth twenty of her, darling. 
Shallow, conceited. She neglected? She badly 
treated? My sympathy is with her husband now. 

[ 255 ] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

What fools men are!” And Noreen swept in- 
dignantly from the room. 

Every moment of the hour that they spent in the 
Club that evening was a lifetime of torture to Muriel. 
She had faced a charging tiger with less dread than 
she did the crowd at the tea-tables in the rink. She 
fancied that every woman who looked at her was 
laughing in her sleeve at her, that every man who 
bowed or spoke to her was pitying her. Suddenly 
her heart seemed to stop beating, for she saw Frank 
sitting with Mrs. Norton and two other ladies, her 
Calcutta cousins, as well as a couple of men in the 
British Infantry regiment at Lebong. They were 
looking at her; and she left that Violet was pointing 
her out as the deserted maiden. She tried to smile 
bravely when her rival waved her hand and called 
out a cheery “good evening” to her and Noreen, who 
answered the greeting with an almost defiant air of 
imconcern. 

For days afterwards she saw practically nothing 
of Wargrave, who was obliged to be in constant 
attendance on Mrs. Norton. Violet had induced the 
manager of her hotel to find a room for him; and 
he was forced to transfer himself and his belongings 
to the Eastern Palace. She monopolised him, 
insisted on his taking her shopping in the mornings, 
calling in the afternoons or to Lebong to watch the 
polo, or else playing tennis with her at the Amuse- 
ment Club. He dined with her every evening and 
[256] 


‘‘ROOTED IN DISHONOUR” 

escorted her to the dances, concerts or theatricals 
that filled the nights during the Season. He hardly 
recognised her in the gay social butterfly with seem- 
ingly never a care in the world; and she made him 
wonder every day if she had any love left for him or 
wanted him to have any for her. For she showed 
no desire to be sentimental and treated him very 
much as she had in the early days of their ac- 
quaintance. She never discussed their future. He 
had not the moral courage to ask her outright if 
she still wanted to come to him. She gave no in- 
dication of being happy only in his company; for she 
soon began to release him from attendance on her 
on occasions in favour of some one or other of the 
new men friends that she rapidly made. He took 
advantage of this to see something of Muriel 
again. 

But this did not suit Mrs. Norton. Even if she did 
not want Frank herself that was no reason why the 
girl should have him. She tried being jealous and 
insisted on his breaking off the friendship; but, 
although he hated the scenes that ensued, he 
resolutely refused to do so. Then Violet adopted an- 
other plan. She pretended to be convinced by his 
assurances that it meant nothing and declared that 
she wished to be friends with Muriel. She went out 
of her way to be nice to the girl when they met in 
public and at last invited her to tea at the Eastern 
Palace Hotel on an afternoon on which she knew 

[257] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

Mrs. Dermot to be engaged. Muriel accepted be- 
cause she did not know very well how to refuse. 

When she was shown into Mrs. Norton’s private 
sitting-room she found Wargrave already there with 
her hostess, who received her very amiably. During 
tea the conversation flowed in safe channels at first. 
But suddenly Violet startled her guests by sa5dng: 

‘^Now, Miss Benson, that we three are alone I 
think it a good opportunity to speak very plainly 
about Frank’s relations with you. I’ve just been 
giving him a serious talking to about the way he has 
behaved to you.” 

The girl drew herself up haughtily. 

‘‘What do you mean, Mrs. Norton,” she said. 

“The way Mr. Wargrave has behaved- ? I don’t 

understand you.” 

“Oh yes, you do. It’s best to speak plainly. I’m 
afraid Frank has been leading you to believe that 
he’s in love with you .” 

“Violet!” broke in Wargrave angrily. “Please 
don’t go on. You’ve no right to say such things.” 

She smiled sweetly on him. 

“Yes, I have, Frank. You know, my dear boy, 
that you’ve got pretty ways with women — ^I fear 
he’s rather a flirt, Miss Benson — that you are apt to 
make some of them think you mean more than you 
do.” 

“What absurd nonsense!” he cried, more angrily 
still. “Please stop, I beg of you.” 


‘‘ROOTED IN DISHONOUR’’ 

“No, Frank, it is only right that I should warn 
Miss Benson.” She turned to the girl. “He hasn’t 
told you, I’m sure, that he’s not free to marry you 
or any other girl.” 

Wargrave sprang up. 

“I’ve told her everything about us, Violet,” he 
protested. “I ask you as a, favour to drop the 
subject.” 

The girl sat as if turned to stone while Mrs. 
Norton went on: 

“You are young, my dear, and can’t know much 
about men. I suppose you’ve lived in the jungle all 
your life. Now, a little bird has told me you’ve let 
yourself get too fond of Frank — oh, he’s very charm- 
ing, I know, and this playing at nursing a poor 
wounded hero is a dangerous game. But I’m going 
to tell you plainly that Frank is pledged to me. He 
has asked me to leave my husband for him, and I’ve 
consented; so there’s no use your trying to catch 
him, my dear. You’re too late.” 

The girl sprang indignantly to her feet. 

“I’ve done nothing of the sort, Mrs. Norton. How 
dare you say so? You’ve no right to speak to me as 
you’re doing.” 

The older woman sat back coolly in her chair and 
laughed; but her eyes grew hard. 

“Oh yes, I have, my dear girl. You two were the 
talk of Darjeeling before I came. Of course you’re 
angry, naturally, at failing to catch him, but I’m 

[259] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

going to put a stop to your trying, here and now. 
He has got to break with you.’^ 

“You are a wicked woman,” began the girl; and 
then indignation choked her. 

Mrs. Norton leant forward in her chair. 

“Can you deny that you^re in love with him?” she 
asked. 

Wargrave tried to interpose; but the girl waved 
him' aside and faced her rival. 

“I’ll answer you. I am. I love him as you could 
never do. I was willing to give him up to you — for 
he loves me, not you — so that he should not be 
false to his word. I didn’t know what you were 
like, then. But now I don’t believe you’d ever make 
him happy. You don’t love him — ^you haven’t got it 
in you. You wouldn’t be content with any one man. 
I’ve watched you. You’re absolutely heartless; and 
you’d only make Frank miserable. You’re willing 
to disgrace him as well as yourself. You don’t 
mind if you ruin him. Frank ” 

She turned towards Wargrave. 

“You said you loved me. Is it true?” 

He answered firmly: 

“Yes, I do.” 

“Then will you marry me? This woman will only 
wreck your life. Choose between us.” 

He turned in desperation to Mrs. Norton. 

“Violet, you don’t really want me, do you? You 
don’t love me. I’ve felt for a long time that you’re 


ROOTED IN DISHONOURS’ 


forgetting me. I love Muriel and she loves me. If 
you ever cared for me release me from my promise.” 

Mrs. Norton lay back calmly in her chair and 
looked with a smile from one to the other. Then she 
said deliberately: 

“This morning I wrote to my husband and told 
him that I was never returning to him, that I was 
going to you, Frank. That is why I asked this girl 
here to-day to tell you before her that now I’m going 
to ask you to keep your promise. Will you?” 

The girl looked at him appealingly and stretched 
out her hands to him. 

“Frank, for your own sake, if not for mine, don’t 
listen to her.” 

He stood irresolute, torn by conflicting emotions. 
Then with an effort he replied: 

“Muriel, I must. I can’t break my word.” 

Mrs. Norton gave a mocking laugh. The girl 
shrank from him and hid her face in her hands for 
a moment. Then she looked up and said, desperately 
calm: 

“Very well, be it so. You’ve decided and there’s 
nothing more to be said. You’ve shamed me before 
this woman; and I never want to see you agmn.” 

She turned and wdked out of the room. 


[261] 


CHAPTER XIII 


THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE 

As Muriel passed through the door Wargrave 
started to follow her; but Violet cried peremp- 
torily: 

^Trank, stay here. Please realise that I come 
first now. Sit down.’^ 

He obeyed mechanically. She went on petulantly: 

‘‘These emotional scenes are rather exhausting. 
Do you mind calling the hotel ‘boy’ and ordering 
ia cocktail for me? You ought to have one yourself. 
I suppose, like all men, you hate scenes. Then 
you should be grateful to me for saving you from 
that spiteful little jungle cat.” 

Going to the verandah outside the room he called 
a hotel servant and gave him the order, then re- 
turned to his chair and sat down wearily. He stared 
at the floor in silence. He had sent the girl that 
he loved away utterly humiliated; and he knew 
that, with her proud spirit, the shame of his rejec- 
tion of her would cut her to the heart. He cursed 
himself for bringing this pain to her. It was all 
his fault. Not only had he had no right to speak 
of love to her while he was bound to another woman, 
but he ought never to have sought her society as 
[262] 


THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE 


he had done, never striven to gain her friendship, 
for by doing so he had unconsciously won her love. 
The harm was done long before he spoke to her 
of his feelings. What a selfish brute he was to thus 
cause two women to suffer I 

Presently he remembered that his moodiness, his 
silence, were uncomplimentary, cruel, to Violet. 
She was right in saying that she came first. Indeed 
she was the only one to be considered now. The 
other had passed out of his life. It might be that 
they should meet again some day in their restricted 
world, but while he could he must try to avoid 
her. There was only Violet left. 

He looked up to find his companion's eyes fixed 
on him with an undefinable expression. He roused 
himself with an effort that was not lost on the 
woman watching him. 

“So you have told your husband,’’ he said. “Well, 
now we must arrange what we are going to do.” 

“We won’t discuss our plans at this moment,” 
replied Violet. “I’m not in the mood for it.” Then 
after a pause she added bitterly, “I must give you 
time to recover from the shock of the abrupt end- 
ing to your little jungle romance.” 

Before he could reply the servant appeared with 
a tray. 

“Ah, thank goodness, here are the cocktails. 
There’s only one. Aren’t you having one, too? It 
will do you good. No?” 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

She sipped her cocktail slowly. When she had 
finished it she got up from her chair, saying: 

^T’ll get ready to go to the Amusement Club. 
Will you wait for me here? You needn^t change 
— ^we won’t play tennis to-day; for we’ve got this 
dinner and dance on to-night and I don’t want to 
tire myself. I shan’t be long.” 

As she passed his chair she tapped his cheek 
and said: 

“Don’t look so miserable, my dear boy. You’ll 
soon get over the loss of your jungle girl. There, 
you may kiss my hand ^ a sign of your return 
to your allegiance.” 

But when she entered her bedroom she did not 
at once proceed to get ready to go out, but 
unlocked her dressing<ase and, taking out of it a 
letter, sat down to read it for the tenth time since 
she had received it that morning. Yet it was short 
and concise. It was from Rosenthal and addressed 
from the Mess of the 2nd (Duke’s Own) Hussars 
in Bangalore; for, as it told her, he had returned 
to his regiment as his leave had expired. It was 
the first that had come from him since she had left 
Poona, although, as he said in it, he had obtained 
her new address from the Goanese clerk in the 
Munster Hotel office on the day of her flight, thanks 
to the persuasive powers of a fifty-rupee note. 

He told her that although her abrupt departure 
had puzzled him and he could not understand why 
[264] 


THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE 


she had tried to conceal her whereabouts from 
him, he wished her to realise that if it were an 
attempt to escape from him it was useless. He 
could bide his time, for sooner or later he would 
get her. 

Violet smiled as she read his confident words, 
although they caused a little shiver of fear to 
run through her. Then she rose, locked the letter 
away and put on her hat. 

Not until after lunch next day was Wargrave able 
to find time to go to the Oriental Hotel, not to see 
Muriel, he sternly told himself, but to pay a visit to 
Mrs. Dermot. When he was shown up to her sitting- 
room he had to wait for sime time before Noreen 
entered; and he was struck at once by the coldness 
of her greeting. It was evident that she was very 
displeased with him. She said no word about 
Muriel; and Wargrave felt curiously averse to men- 
tioning her name. 

At last he summed up courage to ask her. With 
as near an approach to frigidity of manner as she 
could show to a man to whom she was so indebted 
Noreen replied: 

“Muriel has left Darjeeling.” 

“Left Darjeeling? Where for? Where has she 
gone?” he exclaimed in surprise. 

“To her father.” 

“But why? She wasn't to have left for weeks 
yet,” said Wargrave. 


[265] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

Mrs. Dermot looked at him angrily. 

‘‘Why? Need you ask? I should have thought 
commonsense would have told you. I don^t think 
we’ll talk about it, please. As I said before, I’ve 
washed my hands of the whole affair.” 

Further conversation on the subject was rendered 
impossible by the irruption of her children, who 
rushed at Wargrave and reproached him for not 
being to see them lately. 

During the next few days Violet baffled every 
attempt that Frank made to discuss their future 
course of action. The constant succession of gaieties, 
the balls, theatricals, concerts, races, gymkhanas, 
that filled every afternoon and evening of the Dar- 
jeeling Season, took up all her time. Whenever he 
tried to talk matters over with her she invariably 
replied that there was no hurry, even when he 
pointed out that Major Norton might arrive any 
day in consequence of her letter. That he had not 
already done so was inexplicable to Wargrave; 
and the subaltern could only believe her assurance 
that her husband accepted her loss with equanimity. 
It never occurred to Frank to doubt that she had 
written the letter. 

But one morning matters came to a crisis. When 
Violet and Wargrave returned to the hotel from 
their ride before breakfast a telegram was handed 
to the latter. He found it to be an official message 
from Colonel Dermot, which ran: 

[266] 


THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE 


“Please return forthwith to Ranga Duar. I start for 
Europe on sick leave to-day.” 

Frank stared at it in surprise. He had heard 
nothing of his superior officer being ill. It must 
be something very serious to necessitate his being 
sent to Europe. The news was an unpleasant shock 
to him; for he genuinely liked and respected the 
Political Officer. 

Then it occurred to him that this order to return 
brought everything to a head. Violet saw that he 
was perturbed. 

“What is it, Frank?” she asked. 

“1^11 tell you upstairs, dear,” he said. 

In her sitting-room he handed her the telegram. 

“I must leave to-day. Will you be ready to 
come with me?” he asked. 

“What? To-day? My dear boy, it’s impossible,” 
she replied. 

“But I must go. You see, it’s imperative. The 
Colonel’s already gone.” 

“Yes, I see you must. But — ^well, I simply 
couldn’t be ready,” said Violet calmly. “Besides, 
I’m singing at the concert to-morrow night; and 
there’s the dance at Government House the night 
after. I must follow you later.” 

“But that means your travelling alone,” he 
argued. “Wouldn’t it be much pleasanter for you 
to come with me?” 

“Don’t worry about me for goodness’ sake, 
[267] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

Frank. I^m not a helpless person. I came across 
India by myself to get here; and surely I’ll be able 
to manage to do a twenty-four hours’ journey alone.” 

^‘Very well, dear,” he replied with an inward, 
unacknowledged feeling of relief that the decisive 
step had not to be taken yet. ‘T’ll come down from 
Ranga Duar with an elephant to meet you at the 
railway station when you arrive. Now, while you’re 
changing for breakfast. I’ll rush round to the Orien- 
tal and see if Mrs. Dermot has more news.” 

When he reached the hotel he found Noreen busily 
packing. She was pale and evidently deeply dis- 
tressed, although outwardly calm and collected. 

‘^You have heard?” she asked, as he entered her 
sitting-room. 

‘‘Only that your husband is starting for England 
on sick leave and that I’m to return at once. What’s 
the matter? I hope it’s not serious.” 

“Mr. Macdonald wires that Kevin must go at 
once to England for an operation. He says I’m 
not to worry, as there is no immediate danger. But 
of course I can’t help being alarmed. It’s all so 
sudden. I didn’t know that Kevin was ill. Mr. 
Macdonald is travelling with him to the junction 
on the main line where the children and I are to 
meet them. Isn’t it kind of him? I’m so glad to 
know my husband will have someone with him 
until I come.” 

“We’ll meet at the railway station after lunch, 
[268] 


THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE 


then,” said Wargrave. ^‘We’ll be together as far 
as the junction.” 

Mrs. Dermot hesitated. 

‘^\re you travelling alone?” she asked. 

Frank flushed as he replied: 

‘‘Yes. She — ^\^iolet is to follow later.” 

Noreen made no comment; and having learned 
all that he could he returned to his hotel. 

He dreaded the ordeal of the parting with Mrs. 
Norton, but when the time came for it he found 
his fear of a distressing scene quite uncalled for. 
She said goodbye to him in a pleasantly friendly, 
though somewhat casual, manner, and did not offer 
to accompany him to the station as she had a pre- 
vious engagement. And long before the little train 
had zig-zagged down the seven thousand feet to the 
foot of the Himalayas she had dismissed him from 
her mind. 

The truth was that the gay and admired Mrs. 
Norton, caught up in the whirlwind of social amuse- 
ment in a lively hill-station, was not the woman 
who passed weary days of ennui in the company of 
a dull and unattractive husband in a small, dead- 
and-alive station. Nor was the dejected man who 
so plainly showed that he was pining for someone 
else the goodlooking, heart-whole subaltern who 
had fascinated her in the boredom of existence in 
Rohar. Was he worth incurring social damnation 
for? Would his companionship — for she knew that 
[269] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

she had not his love — make up for a life of lone- 
liness, debt and poverty in a frontier outpost? If 
she were resolved on giving up her present assured 
position — and Violet felt that existence with Norton 
would be more than ever unendurable after the 
exciting pleasures of Poona and Darjeeling — ^would 
it not be wiser to do so for someone who could 
amply compensate her for the sacrifice? Love in a 
cottage — or its Indian equivalent, a subaltern’s com- 
fortless bungalow — did not appeal to her. Her 
statement that she had written to tell her husband 
that she was leaving for Wargrave was false. It had 
served the purpose for which it was made, and that 
was the defeat of her rival. So now, content with 
her victory, she put all burdensome thought from 
her and dined, danced and flirted to her heart’s 
content in the gaieties of the Darjeeling Season. 

When Wargrave reached Ranga Duar the little 
outpost seemed strangely forlorn without the Der- 
mots and their children. Major Hunt and Mac- 
donald welcomed him warmly. The latter informed 
him that he had insisted on the Colonel going to 
England for his operation because the Political 
Officer had not been out of India for seven years 
and needed the change, and besides he would receive 
more care and attention in a London nursing-home 
than in an Indian hospital. The trouble was intes- 
tinal but there was no immediate danger to his life. 

Another familiar figure was missing. Before 
[270] 


THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE 

departing Dermot had released Badshah and hit 
him to wander in freedom in the jungle, unwilling 
that his faithful companion of years should be ser- 
vant to anyone else and confident that the elephant 
would come back to him when he returned to the 
Terai. Major Hunt placed one of the detachment 
elephants at Wargrave^s disposal whenever he 
required it to take him on his tours along the fron- 
tier. And Frank needed it constantly. For, as 
soon as the news of Colonel Dermot^s departure 
spread, the lawless spirits that for fear of him had 
not ventured for five years to disturb the peace of 
the Border, began to show signs of restlessness. The 
Political Officer’s strong personality and the reputa- 
tion of divinity that he enjoyed had kept them in 
check. But now that he was gone they thought that 
they could defy with impunity the young sahib who 
replaced him. 

So the Assistant had not long to wait for an oppor- 
tunity to show his mettle. Dermot had not been 
gone a fortnight before one or two raids were 
attempted on British villages by lawless moun- 
taineers from across the Bhutan frontier. Wargrave 
soon proved that the mantle of Colonel Dermot had 
not fallen on unworthy shoulders. Single-handed he 
intercepted and faced a party of Bhutanese swords- 
men swooping down from the hills on a tea-garden 
in search of loot, shot the leader and two of his 
followers and put the rest to flight. With a handful 
[271] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

of sepoys of the Military Police he surprised a 
Bhuttia village in the No Man’s Land along the 
border-line and captured a notorious outlaw who 
had plundered in Indian territory and had sent him 
a defiant challenge. 

Wargrave was glad of the excitement and the 
occupation, for they kept him from brooding over his 
troubles and worrying about the future. He had not 
time to puzzle over Violet’s silence. She had not 
written to him since their parting. As a matter of 
fact she seldom thought of him, so engrossed was she 
in the pursuit of pleasure. Admittedly the prettiest 
woman in Darjeeling that season she received 
enough attention and admiration to turn any 
woman’s head; and she enjoyed it all to the full. 
Although she had answered Rosenthal’s letter from 
Bangalore he had not written again; but she felt 
that he was not forgetting her. She thought oftener 
of him than of Wargrave; for the vision of the great 
riches that she might one day share with him fas- 
cinated her. It haunted her dreams sleeping and 
waking. Often she let her fancy stray to the 
existence that he had promised would be hers when 
he was the possessor of his father’s fortune, a life of 
luxury in the gayest cities of the world with all that 
immense wealth could bestow, a life infinitely better 
worth living than her present one. Would she ever 
be given the chance of it? 

The question was speedily and unexpectedly 
[272] 


THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE 


answered. One morning after breakfast she re- 
ceived a telegram from Rosenthal. It said: 

^‘My father is dead. I sail from Bombay for South 
Africa on Friday to settle up his affairs. Will you 
come?’* 

She stared at the paper almost uncomprehend- 
ingly for a few moments. Then the meaning of 
the message dawned on her. She sat down at her 
writing-table and thought hard. She had little 
time in which to make up her mind; for if she 
wished to reach Bombay before Rosenthal sailed 
she would have to leave Darjeeling that afternoon. 
What should she do? Should she go? She found 
a pencil and a telegraph form and addressed the 
latter to the Hussar. Then she hesitated. But 
she was not long in coming to a decision. With a 
firm hand she wrote the one word ‘‘Yes** and signed 
her name. Then she rose from the table, called a 
hotel servant, despatched the telegram and went 
to her bedroom to pack. And the same train that 
took her away from Darjeeling carried a letter from 
her to Wargrave. 

But the subaltern did not receive it until more 
than a week afterwards, when he returned to Ranga; 
Duar with Tashi after chasing back across the 
Border a mongrel pack of ddcoits — ^brigands — ^who 
had been harrying Bhuttia villages in British terri- 
tory. The letter lay on the table in the room which 
he still occupied in the Mess, although he was no 

[273] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

longer sm officer of the detachment, together with a 
pile of correspondence that had accumulated during 
his absence. Recognising Violet’s writing on the enve- 
lope he tore it open anxiously. He rapidly scanned 
the first page, stared at it incredulously, read it 
again carefully and then finished the letter. It ran: 

*‘My dear Frank, 

I am going to relieve your mind of a great weight and 
send you into the seventh heaven of delight by giving 
you the glad news that you are never likely to see me 
again. Before the week is ended I shall have left India 
for ever with someone who can give me all I want and not 
condemn me to a poverty-stricken existence in a wretched 
little jungle station, which is all that you had to offer me. 
I know it was not your fault and you are really a dear 
boy. I was very fond of you; but you did not love me 
and we would have been very miserable together. For 
you would be always pining for your jungle girl and I 
would have hated you for it. Now we part good friends 
and she is welcome to you. I ought to tell you that I 
did not really write to my husband as I said I did. 

I wish you luck — ^won’t you wish me the same? 

Yours affectionately, 

Violet." 

When he had thoroughly grasped the meaning of 
this extraordinary letter he forgave her everything 
in the joy of knowing that she had set him free. He 
did not speculate as to the man with whom she was 
going; his thoughts flew at once to Muriel. But 
his delight was tempered by the fear that his liberty 
had come too late to be of service to him with her. 
Would she ever forgive him? His heart sank when 

[274] 


THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE 

he remembered her indignation, her bitter words 
when they parted. Surely no woman who had been 
so humiliated could pardon the man who had brought 
such shame upon her. Yet how could he have acted 
otherwise? It was natural that the girl should blame 
him; but how could he have been false to his plighted 
word and desert the one who held his promise? If 
only he could see Muriel and plead with her. Per- 
haps in time she might bring herself to forgive him. 
But how was he to meet her? Now that Mrs. Der- 
mot had gone to England, the girl would not come 
again to Ranga Duar. She was, he knew, accom- 
panying her father in his tour of the forests of the 
districts in his charge. How could he go to their 
camp or lonely bungalow in the jungle and force 
his presence on her? What was he to do? 

Longing for someone to confide in, someone to 
advise him, he went to Major Hunt and told him the 
whole story. The older man rejoiced in learning of 
the subaltern’s release from his entanglement, but, 
knowing Miss Benson well, shook his head doubt- 
fully over the chances of her forgiving Wargrave. 
Nevertheless, unwilling to kill the young man’s hope, 
he affected a confidence that he was far from feeling 
and bade him take courage. He advised him to 
arrange a few days’ shooting in the neighbourhood 
of the Bensons when he could spare the time from 
his duties. The father would be sure to offer him 
hospitality and the daughter could not well avoid 

[275] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

him. In the meantime he might write and plead his 
cause on paper. 

Wargrave sat up half the night composing a letter 
to Muriel. Sheet after sheet was torn up in disgust 
before he was even tolerably satisfied. But the 
laboured result was never sent. Next morning after 
breakfast as he sat smoking in the Mess with Major 
Hunt and the doctor his servant entered to tell him 
that a forest guard wanted to see him. A wild hope 
flashed through his mind that perhaps Muriel had 
sent him a message. But on going out to the back 
verandah where the man awaited him he was handed 
an envelope '^On His Majesty’s Service,” addressed 
in a strange handwriting. He opened it and glanced 
carelessly at the letter, but the first lines riveted his 
attention. 

^‘Forest Officer's Bungalow, 

Barwana Section. 

From 

the District Superintendent of Police, 

Bengal Civil Police. 

To 

the Assistant Political Officer, 

Ranga Duar. 

Sir, 

Three days ago a party of Chinamen attacked and 
severely injured the Deputy Conservator of Forests, Mr. 
Benson, in this bungalow, and abducted his daughter. 
They were ten or twelve in number and well armed, and 
over-awed the servants and forest employees. They have 
been tracked towards the Bhutan Frontier and, I fear, 
have crossed it by this. There was, unfortunately, much 
delay in the information reaching me while I was touring 
[276] 


THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE 


the district south of the forest; and I have only just 
arrived here. I hasten to acquaint you with the occur- 
rence as I am powerless if the ruffians have crossed into 
Bhutan. Please request the Officer Commanding Mili- 
tary Police Detachment to send out parties to try to cut 
off the raiders from the passes through the mountains, 
although I fear it is too late. Can you meet me here 
and confer with me? Please bring the Medical Officer 
of the detachment with you, as Mr. Benson is in a bad 
state and no civil surgeon is available for a great distance 
from here. Your obedient servant, 

Edward Lawrence. 

D. S. P.” 

Horror-stricken, Wargrave questioned the forest 
guard. The man had not been at the bungalow at 
the time of the outrage and could not greatly supple- 
ment the information contained in the letter. The 
story that he had learned from the servants was to 
the effect that a party of Chinamen had arrived at 
Mr. Benson’s bungalow and asked for employment 
as carpenters. There was nothing unusual in this, 
as Chinese from the Southern Provinces frequently 
make their way on foot through Tibet and Bhutan 
over the mountains in search of work on the tea- 
gardens or in Calcutta. Apparently they had sud- 
denly struck the old man down and surprised Miss 
Benson before she could offer any resistance. 
Producing fire-arms they had terrified the servants. 
They had a mule hidden in the jungle and on this 
the girl was placed and led off. Long after they had 
disappeared some of the forest guards had timidly 

[277] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

followed their track for some distance and found 
that it led towards the Bhutan Frontier. 

When Wargrave had extracted from the man all 
the information that he could he rushed into the 
Mess and acquainted the two officers in it with the 
terrible news. Like him they were horrified at the 
outrage. Major Hunt went at once to the Fort to 
order out parties of the detachment in accordance 
with the District Superintendent's request; and 
Macdonald got ready to proceed to the Forest 
Officer’s bungalow forty miles away. 

The Assistant Political Officer despatched al 
cipher telegram to the Foreign Department, Gov- 
ernment of India, at Simla, informing them of the 
occurrence and of his intention to investigate the 
affair personally, and, if possible, rescue Miss 
Benson. He knew that the Heads of the Depart- 
ment, although they would not sanction or approve 
officially of his crossing the frontier in pursuit of the 
raiders, as it would be contrary to the Treaty with 
the Bhutanese Government, would not enquire too 
closely into his movements. But whether they liked 
it or not he intended to follow the abductors if 
necessary into the heart of Bhutan, Treaty or no 
Treaty. 

His first step was to send for Tashi and order 
him to prepare the disguise that he intended to 
use. His rifle he left behind, but armed himself with 
a brace of long-barrelled automatic pistols to which 
[278] 


THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE 

their wooden holsters dipped on to form butts, thus 
converting them into carbines accurate up to a 
range of a hundred and fifty or two hundred yards. 
He found a third for Tashi in Colonel Dermot’s 
armoury, which was at his disposal. 

Night had fallen long before the detachment 
elephant that bore Wargrave, Macdonald, Tashi and 
the forest guard as well as its own mahout, reached 
the bungalow where the District Superintendent of 
Police awaited them. The doctor found Benson 
suffering from a wound in the head, with concussion 
and fever. Frank interrogated the servants care- 
fully and elicited from them one fresh fact about the 
outrage that shed a flood of light on its motive and 
its author. It was that the leader of the party was 
pock-marked and blind in the right eye; and this 
at once confirmed Frank^s suspicion that the instiga- 
tor of Muriel’s abduction was the Chinese Amban, 
whose parting threat to the girl had thus materi- 
alised. 

At daybreak Wargrave and Tashi started on foot 
accompanied by a forest guard to put them on the 
track of the gang. This led up towards the Bhutan 
Frontier, which runs among the hills at an average 
elevation of six thousand feet above the sea. As 
the Assistant Political Officer anticipated, the party 
had headed for the portion of the border under the 
control of the Amban' s friend, the Penlop of Tuna. 
Enquiries among the inhabitants of the mountain 

[279] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

villages resulted in several of them coming for- 
ward with the information that they had seen a 
small body of armed Chinese escorting a cloaked 
and shrouded figure on a mule and climbing 
up towards Bhutan. Two of the Government 
Secret Service agents among these Bhuttias had 
followed them cautiously to the frontier and seen 
them received there by a party of the Tuna Penlop’s 
armed retainers. These men reported that the 
watch on all the passes into Bhutan was stricter than 
ever, and, as one of them phrased it, not even a 
rat could creep through unobserved. 

This discouraging intelligence was a further proof 
of AmbarCs guilt. But Frank realised that it would 
not be sufficient to justify the Government of India 
claiming redress from the Republic of China; and, 
indeed, diplomatic procedure was much too slow to 
be of any use in the rescue of the girl. An appeal 
to the Maharajah of Bhutan would be equally fruit- 
less; for his powerful vassal the Tuna Penlop was 
practically in rebellion against him and defied his 
authority. The sole hope of saving Muriel lay in 
Wargrave^s prompt action. 

Yet try as the subaltern would, he and Tashi 
were unable at any point to pierce the cordon of 
guards along the frontier. Generally they got away 
unseen; but on one occasion they were discovered 
and had to flee back into British territory under a 
shower of arrows. Fortunately fire-arms are scarce 
[280] 


THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE 

in Bhutan; and the Tuna Penlop’s soldiers possessed 
only bows. 

It was imperative that Wargrave and his follower 
should be circumspect in their movements, and by 
day they hid in caves or in the jungle clothing the 
slopes of the higher hills, to escape observation by 
Bhutanese spies. When they had exhausted the 
food that they had brought with them and failed to 
procure any more from their Secret Service agents 
in the villages, Tashi gathered bananas, dug up 
edible tubers like the charpattia or charlong, and 
snared jungle-fowl and Monal pheasants. Having 
obtained a bow and a sheaf of arrows from a village 
he sometimes succeeded in killing a gooral, the active 
little wild goat found in the lower hills, the flesh of 
which is excellent. 

As day after day went by and found them no 
nearer success in crossing the frontier Wargrave 
began to lose heart. He was harassed by anxiety 
over MuriePs fate and feared that he would never 
be able to rescue her. At times he grew desperate 
and but for his companion's remonstrances would 
have tried to fight his way through the border 
guards, although in his saner moments he knew that 
it would be sheer madness. 

Besides danger from human enemies the two men 
were menaced by peril from wild beasts as well. 
Panthers prowled among the hills, great Himalayan 
bears, a blow from the paw of one of which would 
[281] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

crack a man’s skull, wandered on the jungle-clad 
slopes and, though not carnivorous, were always 
ready to attack human beings. Herds of wild 
elephants, which had scaled the mountains into 
Bhutan at the beginning of the Monsoon to reach 
the northern face of the Himalayas and escape the 
heavy rains that deluge the southern slopes and also 
to avoid the insects that plague them in the jungle 
at that season, were commencing to return to the 
Terai. Often Wargrave and Tashi had to climb trees 
to let a herd go by; and each time as he watched 
them the subaltern thought longingly of Colonel 
Dermot and Badshah. If he had them to help him 
how easily he could burst the barrier between him 
and the land that held the girl whom he loved and 
who needed him sol 

Late one afternoon, as the two men were making 
their way through bamboo jungle at the foot of 
high cliffs close to a pass into Ghutan which they 
had not yet attempted, they blundered into the 
middle of a herd of elephants feeding. There was no 
tree in which they could take refuge, and before they 
were able to make their escape they found them- 
selves surrounded on every side. A number of cow- 
elephants, which, having young calves witl^^them, 
were very savage, pressed threateningly towards the 
men, who tried to force their way into the dense 
growths of the bamboos and so put a frail barrier 
between themselves and the menacing beasts. They 
[282] 


THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE 


knew that their pistols would be useless, and they 
had already given themselves up for lost when the 
huge animals which were apparently about to 
charge them, suddenly stopped and drew aside to 
allow a monstrous bull-elephant to pass through. It 
was a single-tusker, and it advanced steadily 
towards the men. Frank stared at it incredulously. 

Could it be ? Yes, it was. He was sure of it. 

It was Badshah. 

And the elephant knew him and came towards 
him. In the sudden revulsion of feeling and his 
relief at knowing that they were safe Frank almost 
lost his head. A mad hope surged through him. 
He stretched out his arms imploringly to the great 
beast and cried impulsively: 

‘‘Oh, Badshah! Hum-ko madad do! (Help usi)” 

To his amazement the animal seemed to under- 
stand. It sank slowly to its knees as though in- 
viting him to mount it. 

“Sahib! Sahib! He offers us his aid,’^ cried 
Tashi excitedly, and he scrambled up after Wargrave 
who had climbed on to the broad shoulders. 

The subaltern leaned forward and, touching the 
huge forehead, pointed in the direction of Bhutan. 
BadsE h turned and moved off towards the pass 
through the mountains, while the herd followed ; and 
Frank thrilled with the hope that at last he was 
about to break through the barrier of foes between 
him and the girl he loved. 


CHAPTER XIV 


THE DEVIL DANCERS OF TUNA 

Flat-roofed, arcaded buildings terraced one 
above the other, with gaily painted walls from which 
covered wooden verandahs and box-like, latticed 
windows jutted out, surrounded a paved courtyard, 
its rough flagstones hidden by shifting, many- 
coloured throngs of gorgeously vestmented priests, 
mitred bishops, hideous demons, skeletons with grin- 
ning skulls and weird creatures with papier machi 
heads of bears, tigers, dragons and even stranger 
beasts. Wild but not inharmonious music from 
shaven-headed members of an orchestra of weird 
instruments — gongs, shawns, cymbals, long silver 
trumpets — deafened the ears. Crowds of gaily-clad 
spectators covered the flat roofs of the building and 
arcades, thronged the verandahs, filled the windows 
and squatted around the courtyard — these last kept 
in order by bullet-headed lamas with whips. 

It was the annual ceremony of the Devil Dance 
of the great Buddhist monastery of Tuna, one of 
the fantastic Mystery Plays, the now almost mean- 
ingless functions into which the ideal faith preached 
by Gautama, the Buddha, the high-souled reformer, 
has degenerated. 


[284] 


THE DEVIL DANCERS OF TUNA 

From all parts of Bhutan west of the dividing 
line of the great Black Mountain Range, from Tibet, 
even from far-distant Ladak, the faithful had made 
pilgrimage to be present at the great festival in 
this most famous and sacred gompa of the land. 
Red lamas from Western Tibet and yellow from 
Lhassa, abbots and monks from little-known monas- 
teries lost among the rugged mountains, nuns with 
close-cropped hair from the convents of Thimbu, 
Paro and Punaka, robber chiefs of the Hah-pa 
and graziers from Sipchu, townsfolk from the capital 
and peasants from the fever-laden Himalayan val- 
leys — all had gathered there. For all who attended 
the sacred festival could gain indulgences that would 
save them a century or two’s sojourn in the hot or 
cold hells of their religion. 

In a gallery adorned with artistic wooden carvings 
and hung with brocaded silk and gold embroideries 
sat a fat, bare-legged man with close-cropped hair 
and scanty beard, wearing an ample, red silk go^ 
ornamented with Chinese designs worked in gold 
thread. He was the Penlop of Tuna, the great 
feudal lord of the province, whose high-walled )ong^ 
or castle, crowned the rocky hill on which the mon- 
astery and the town were built. Behind him stood 
his officers and attendants clad in silk or woollen 
kimono-like garments bound at the waist by gaily- 
worked leather belts from which hung handsome 
swords with elaborately-wrought silver hilts inlaid 

[285] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

with coral and turquoises and with gold-washed 
silver scabbards. 

The courtyard was gay with fluttering prayer- 
flags, the poles of which as well as the wooden pillars 
of the arcades were hung with the beautiful banners 
artistically worked with countless pieces of coloured 
silks and brocades and needlework pictures of Bud- 
dhist gods and saints for which the monasteries of 
Bhutan are justly famed. From the blue sky the 
sun blazed on the riot of mingled hues of the deco- 
rations and the dresses of spectators and performers. 

Especially gorgeous were the robes of the high 
priests in the spectacle. They strongly resembled 
Catholic bishops in their gold-embroidered mitres, 
copes and vestments as, carrying pastoral crooks 
or sprinkling holy water, they moved around the 
courtyard in solemn procession behind acolytes 
carrying sacred banners, swinging censers and 
intoning, harmonious chants. Troops of baffled 
demons fled at their approach howling in diabolic 
despair. Shuddering wretches clad in scanty rags, 
groping blindly as in the dark, wailing miserably 
and uttering weird, long-drawn whistling notes, 
shrank aside from the fleeing devils and stretched 
out their hands in supplication to the saintly prelates. 
They were intended to represent the spirits of dead 
men straying in the period of Bardo — the forty-nine 
days after death — during which the soul released 
from the body is doomed to wander in search of its 
[286] 


THE DEVIL DANCERS OF TUNA 

next incarnation. In its journeyings it is assailed 
and terrified by demons, who can only be defeated 
by the prayers of pious lamas to Chenresi the Great 
Pitier. 

The whole purpose of these representations is to 
familiarise during life the devout Buddhists with the 
awful aspect of the many demons that will obstruct 
their souls after death and try to lead them astray 
when they are searching for the right path to the 
next world in which they are to begin a fresh exist- 
ence. 

On this strange, bewildering spectacle an English 
girl looked down from a small balcony not twenty 
feet above the courtyard. And the sight of her 
caused the attention of many of the spectators to 
wander from the Mystery Play. The fat old Penlop 
frequently looked across the quadrangle at her 
from his gallery and as often uttered some coarse 
jest about her to his grinning followers, while he 
raised a chased silver goblet filled with murwa, the 
native liquor, to his lips. 

It was Muriel Benson. For weeks she had been 
a prisoner in the lamasery, cloistered in a suite of 
well-furnished rooms and waited on by a close- 
cropped nun. She had been surprised in the bunga- 
low and overpowered by three of the Chinamen 
before she realised her danger or could seize a 
weapon with which to defend herself. Had she been 
able to snatch up a revolver she would have made 
[287] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

a desperate fight for freedom. But with fettered 
hands, a helpless captive, she had been carried 
away on a mule. From the first she had recognised 
the pockmarked, one-eyed leader of the gang as the 
Amban^s officer, and so had known who was the 
author and cause of her abduction. For days she 
had been borne along up the rough track over the 
mountains, through narrow, high-walled passes, 
down deep valleys and across rushing torrents, 
closely guarded but always treated with respect. 
Her captors used broken Tibetan and Bhutanese 
when they desired to communicate with her, but 
they answered none of her questions. She had 
dreaded reaching their destination, where she ex- 
pected to find Yuan Shi Hung awaiting her; and 
once, in fear of it, she had tried to throw herself 
down a precipice along the brink of which the path 
ran. After that she had been roped to a big, power- 
ful Manchu. 

On her arrival at the monastery she learned from 
her garrulous nun-attendant that the Amban had 
been summoned to Pekin, where 2L revolution had 
taken place and his friends there hoped to make 
him President, which he regarded as a step towards 
the Imperial throne. The monks of the monastery 
were his faithful allies on account of his relation- 
ship to the powerful Abbott of the Yellow Lama 
Temple in the Chinese capital. They had agreed 
to guard his prisoner, if his men succeeded in cap- 
[288] 


THE DEVIL DANCERS OF TUNA 


turing her, until he returned or sent for her. 

At first the girl, relieved of the dread of falling 
at once into his hands, lived in the hope of a speedy 
rescue. It was unfortunate, she thought, that 
Colonel Dermot, with his extraordinary knowledge 
of and influence over the Bhutanese, had left India. 
But even without him the power of the British 
Empire would be set at once in motion to avenge 
this outrage on an Englishwoman. Dermot^s 
understudy, the Assistant Poltical Officer, faithless 
lover though he was, would do all he could to 
save her. Assuredly she would not have long to 
wait. 

But as the days dragged by and she still remained 
a prisoner her heart sank. She needed all her 
courage not to lose hope and give way to despair. 
For she had always hanging over her the dread of 
Yuan Shi Hung’s return. But she had resolved to 
kill herself rather than fall into his hands, and for 
that purpose had bribed her cheery, good-natured 
attendant to procure a dagger for her. She pre- 
tended that she wanted it as a protection in the 
lamasery, for the door of her apartments was 
without a fastening. Even on the outside there was 
neither lock nor bolt, for escape was considered 
impossible for her. If she got out of the monastery 
she would be captured at once in the town. 

She was not interfered with and saw no one but 
her nun. Once or twice she ventured to creep 
[289] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

down to the great temple of the monastery, drawn 
by curiosity and the sound of harmonious Buddhist 
chants intoned by the lamaic choir. But for her 
anxiety about her father and her dread of the 
AmbarCs return her worst trial would have been the 
monotony of her captivity, were it not that the 
memory of Wargrave and her unhappy love caused 
her many a sleepless night. 

With nothing to occupy her mind she hailed the 
festival of the Devil Dance as a welcome distraction. 
Not even the impertinent curiosity of the spectators 
could drive her from her balcony. She followed 
the many phases with interest, although she could 
not understand the meaning of them. For the per- 
formance was a curious mixture of religion and blas- 
phemous mockery, of horse-play and coarse humour 
as well as a strange impressiveness. A comic inter- 
lude would follow the most solemn act. Troops of 
devils burlesqued the sacred rites of the faith, and 
bands of comic masks filled the arena at times and 
delighted the audience by playing practical jokes on 
the spectators and each other. The solitary white 
woman attracted their clownish humour, and they 
danced in front of her balcony, shouting out rude 
witticisms that caused much amusement to the 
lookers-on. Fortunately the girPs command of the 
language, fairly good though it was, was insufficient 
to enable her to understand their coarse jests. But 
their intention to insult her became obvious. The 
[290] 


THE DEVIL DANCERS OF TUNA 

leaping, howling mob of strangely apparelled per- 
formers threatened to storm her balcony. Some 
climbed on each other’s shoulders to get nearer her, 
others even began to swarm up the pillars support- 
ing her balcony. To the delight of the audience the 
noisy mob eventually clambered up to the railing of 
the balcony and, jesting, laughing, uttering weird 
cries, perched on it and shouted and jeered at her. 

Her face flaming, the girl drew back and was 
about to retire into her room when suddenly she 
stopped, rigid with surprise. For above the shouts 
of the maskers, the roars of the spectators and the 
din of the clashing cymbals and braying trumpets, 
she heard her name spoken distinctly. Incredulous 
she stood rooted to the ground and stared at the 
yelling clowns perched on the railing. The uproar 
redoubled; but again she distinguished one word 
above it all: 

‘‘Muriel!” 

A wild hope flashed into her heart. Pretending 
to be amused at the antics of the performers she 
advanced laughingly towards them. They gesticu- 
lated and shouted more furiously than ever. But in 
the medley of strange sounds she distinctly heard the 
words: 

“It’s I, Frank. Don’t be afraid.” 

They seemed to come from the papier macM 
head of a grotesque serpent worn by a man who was 
foremost among her tormentors and wildest in his 
[291] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

frenzied gestures. Smiling the girl stood her ground 
even when some of the maskers, encouraged by her 
attitude, climbed down from the rail and surrounded 
her, dancing, hallooing, leaping. The snake-headed 
one was the wildest in his antics and shrieked and 
shouted loudest of them all. But mixed up 
with incoherent cries and sounds she caught the 
words: 

‘‘Are you guarded?^’ A wild yell followed. “Can 
you get out?” Then he yelled like a mad jackal. 

With wildly-beating heart the girl pretended to 
repulse the advances of the maskers good- 
humouredly and spoke to all in English, telling them 
to leave her balcony and cease to molest her. But 
with her laughing remonstrances she mingled the 
words : 

“I am not guarded. I can leave my room. I will 
go down to the temple and wait behind the statue 
of Buddha.” 

Then the serpent-headed one, mded by another 
with dragon mask, both uttering fiendish yells, 
pushed his companions back to the railing, just as 
the Penlop spoke to one of his officials who shouted 
across to them an angry command to leave the white 
woman alone. The scared maskers tumbled over 
each other in their hurry to quit the balcony. 

Thrilled with delight the girl watched them go 
and then, when the entry of a fresh body of mum- 
mers into the courtyard distracted the attention of 
[292] 


THE DEVIL DANCERS OF TUNA 


the spectators from her, she withdrew quietly to her 
room. She was alone, the nun having gone long 
ago to witness the Devil Dance from among the 
crowd. Muriel opened the door leading to a broad 
stone staircase and peered cautiously out. There 
was no one to be seen. All the inhabitants of the 
monastery were gathered in the courtyard. She 
stole carefully down to a side door of the lamasery 
chapel. 

This temple was a large and lofty building richly 
ornamented with fine wood carvings, rich brocades 
and elaborately embroidered banners and hangings. 
The pillars supporting the roof were covered with 
copper plates beaten into beautiful patterns and 
the altars were of silver, the chief one, as in all 
Bhutanese chapels, being adorned by a splendid 
pair of elephant’s tusks. Idols abounded. There 
was a central seated figure of Buddha thirty feet 
high, heavily gilt and studded with turquoises and 
precious stones, with a canopy and background of 
golden lotus leaves. On either side were attendant 
female figures; and images of Buddhist gods, larger 
than life size, stood in double rows. 

Muriel concealed herself behind the colossal statue 
of Buddha and had not long to wait before from her 
hiding-place she saw two maskers, the Snake and the 
Dragon, enter the Temple cautiously. The latter 
remained on guard at the door while his companion, 
who carried a bundle, advanced furtively towards 

[293] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

the great idol. As he drew near he opened the jaws 
of the mask and said in a low tone: 

^‘Muriel! Muriel! Are you here?” 

At the sound of the well-remembered voice the 
girl trembled violently. Her heart beat quickly as 
she came out from behind the statue. When he 
beheld her the masker lifted the snake’s head off; 
and Muriel saw that the face revealed, disguised and 
stained a dull yellow, was that of her lover. At the 
sight of it she forgot the painful past, forgot her 
grievance against him, forgot the other woman, the 
sorrow that he had caused her. As he sprang 
towards her with outstretched arms she cried: 

*^Oh, thank God you’ve come, dear!” 

Frank caught her in his eager embrace. Then 
under the image of the Great Dreamer who taught 
that Love is Illusion, that Affection is Error, that 
Desire but binds closer to the revolving Wheel they 
kissed fondly, passionately, like two faithful lovers 
met again after a life-time of parting. And the 
grotesque Devil-Gods around glared fiercely at them. 
But the Lord Buddha looked mildly down, on his 
sculptured face the ineffable calm of Nirvana, the 
peace of freedom from all Desire attained at last. 
But, heedless of gods or devils the man strained the 
woman to his heart and rained kisses on her lips, 
her eyes, her hair. 

There was little time for dalliance. Danger 
encompassed them. Wargrave produced from the 

[294] 


THE DEVIL DANCERS OF TUNA 

bundle that he carried a mask and a costume with 
a pair of high, felt-soled boots, which effectively 
disguised Muriel. Then they joined Tashi; and the 
three passed out into the vestibule only just in time, 
for here they found a group of lamas and peasants 
from a distant part of the country stopping for a 
moment to look at the great pictured Cycle of 
Existence painted on the wall before they entered 
the temple. The vestibule opened on to a courtyard 
lined with the cells of the monks of the monastery 
and, as this led to the great quadrangle in which the 
Miracle Play was being performed, a stream of 
mummers, lamas and laymen was passing through 
it, mostly going to the spectacle, although a few were 
coming away from it. With Muriel clinging closely 
to him Wargrave followed Tashi as he pushed his 
way through the crowd, exchanging jokes and care- 
less banter as he went. 

The rabbit-warren of steep lanes, flights of steps 
and bridges over ravines through the town built 
on the precipitous slopes of the hill was almost 
deserted, for most of the inhabitants had flocked to 
the Devil Dance. So, unmolested and unnoticed, 
they reached the caravanserai in which the two men 
had lodged for several days before the festival. 
Here they hurriedly changed their costumes. When 
they emerged from it Muriel, her hair cropped almost 
to the scalp and her face stained a yellowish tint, 
was garbed as a boy-novice of a lamasery in the 

[29s] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

priestly dress, with a great rosary round her neck. 
In one hand she held a begging-bowl while with the 
other she guided the feeble steps of the aged lama 
whose disciple she was supposed to be. Behind them 
limped a lame lay-brother of their monastery. 

In this disguise the fugitives met with no hin- 
drance as they quitted the town for the open 
country, heading towards the south. Only when 
well clear of the houses did Frank and Muriel ven- 
ture to converse in their own language. Wargrave 
narrated all that had happened to him since they 
had parted. Anyone watching them beyond ear- 
shot would have wondered at the joy that shone 
in the face of the young chela (disciple) clasping 
the hand of the old priest and gazing affectionately 
at him as they went along; for Frank was telling the 
girl of Violet^s letter which had set him free. He 
described his many fruitless attempts to cross the 
frontier, his fortunate meeting with Badshah and 
the marvellous way in which the wonderful ani- 
mal had helped him. Safely inside Bhutan he 
and Tashi had parted with the elephants in what 
appeared to be the same forest as the one in which 
Colonel Dermot and they had left the herd on their 
previous entry into the country. Frank had tried 
to imitate his chief in ordering Badshah to meet them 
there again; but he was very doubtful of the result. 

They had not found it difficult to follow the trail 
left by MurieFs abductors, for once inside the 
[296] 


THE DEVIL DANCERS OF TUNA 

border the Chinamen had not tried to hide them- 
selves. At every village along the rough road Tashi 
had learned of their passing with their captive, so 
the two had followed them without difficulty to 
Tuna, where they soon discovered where the girl 
was imprisoned. The festival had offered them aji 
unhoped-for opportunity of rescuing her. Tashi, 
once a star performer in similar devil dances in 
his own monastery, procured costumes and taught 
his companion what to do. As the number of those 
taking part in the performances ran to hundreds 
it was easy to slip in unobserved among them. 

Then Muriel told of her adventures. But, far 
more interesting to both than the details of these 
mere happenings, each revealed to the other the 
longings, the love, the hopes and fears, that had 
filled his and her heart during the unhappy period 
of their estrangement. 

Now began a wonderful odyssey that, but for the 
dre;^ of pursuit and capture would have seemed a 
journey in Fairyland to the re-united lovers. In- 
deed, as they travelled on day after day and danger 
seemed left behind, they forgot everything in the 
joy of being together once more, their vows ex- 
changed, their faith pledged, the Future a long 
vista of golden days of delight. It was well that 
Tashi was with them to be on the watch, for the 
lovers walked with their heads in the clouds. 

And certainly theirs was an interesting pilgrim^e. 

[297] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

Bhutan is perhaps the least-known country in Asia, 
the last that has kept its cherished seclusion since 
Anglo-Indian troops burst the barrier of Tibet and 
flaunted the Union Jack in the streets of the fabled 
city of Lhassa. But Bhutan is still a secret, a 
mysterious, land. Only a few British Envoys, from 
Bogle in the latter half of the i8th Century to 
Claude White and Bell in the beginning of this, 
and their companions, had intruded on its privacy 
before Colonel Dermot. So that for the lovers it 
had all the fascination of the unknown. 

Sometimes, among the ice-clad peaks of the giant 
ranges of the Himalayas, they crossed snowy passes 
fourteen thousand feet above the sea, and did not 
neglect to throw a stone upon the obos — the cairns 
that pious and superstitious travellers erect to pro- 
pitiate the spirits of the passes. Sometimes the 
path led under beautiful cliffs of pure white crystal- 
line limestone that in the brilliant sunlight shone 
like the finest marble. Often they journeyed 
through a lovely land of gently-sloping hills, of 
grassy uplands, of deep valleys giving delightful 
vistas of snow-clad mountains far away. They 
walked through pinewoods, through forests of maple, 
silver fir, and larch, and miles of huge bushes of 
flowering rhododendrons. They toiled up a rough 
and stony track over bare and desolate land that 
was an old moraine and under moraine terraces one 
above another, forming giant spurs of the rugged 
[298] 


THE DEVIL DANCERS OF TUNA 


hills. There were dark and fearsome ravines, so 
deep that they could scarcely hear the roar of the 
foaming torrents rushing among the great boulders 
below as they crossed on swaying suspension bridges 
of iron chains. These had been built hundreds of 
years before by long-forgotten Chinese engineers. 
Three chains on one level supported the bamboo or 
plank footway, while one on either side served as 
a hand-rail, and a bamboo or grass lattice-work 
between them and the roadbearers hid from sight 
the deep gorge below. Often these bridges were 
only of ropes of twisted withes or grass and swung 
and swayed in terrifying fashion with the motion 
of the traveller. There were broad rivers over the 
eddying, swirling waters of which strong cantilever 
bridges of stout wooden beams were pushed out 
from the steep banks. 

Truly a beautiful land Bhutan, at its loveliest 
perhaps in spring, when the hills and upland 
meadows where the yaks graze, ten thousand feet 
above the sea, blaze with the mingled colours of 
anemones blue and white, of yellow pansies and 
mauve and white irises, of large white roses and 
small yellow ones, of giant yellow primulas with 
six tiers of flowers, when the oaks and the chestnuts 
are clothed in young green, and the apricot, pear and 
orange trees are in bloom, when large and lovely 
blossoms cover that little-known tree that the 
Bhutanese call chape, when the bright green of the 

[299] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

young grass runs up to the white snowfields. The 
woods are full of a pretty ground orchid, beautiful 
trailing blossoms of others droop from the boughs 
of the great trees, and on the magnesium Limestone 
hills one of the rarest orchids grows in profusion. 

But to the two pilgrims of Love the land seemed 
beautiful even now that the winter was not far 
distant. In the silent woods, hidden from prying 
eyes, they sat hand in hand and whispered to each 
other over and over again the oldest, sweetest story 
that the Earth has known. Strange to hear words of 
love from the lips of such a weird-looking couple; 
yet Muriel in her quaint disguise with her silky hair 
cropped to the scalp was as beautiful in her lover’s 
eyes as when he had seen her in her prettiest frocks. 
And she thought the yellow-skinned, wrinkled old 
lama infinitely more attractive than the gay young 
subaltern of Ranga Duar — for he was her own now. 
Such is Love’s glamour. Muriel had forgiven 
royally. 

Bhutan is a Buddhist-ruled land, therefore slaying 
for sport and fishing in the rivers is prohibited; nay, 
more, the Maharajah sometimes forbids the killing 
of even domestic animals for food. So wild life 
abounds. The fugitives often saw flocks of burhel 
— called nao in Bhutan — feeding on the precipitous 
slopes of the higher hills. Once Frank and Muriel 
excitedly watched a snow-leopard stalking one of 
these big-horned sheep sixteen thousand feet above 
[300] 


THE DEVIL DANCERS OF TUNA 


the sea-level. And in these heights they even saw 
an occasional lynx or wolf, generally only to be 
found in the highest elevations bordering on Tibet. 
Silver-haired langur apes, the white fringes around 
their black faces giving them a comic resemblance to 
aged negroes, awoke the echoes of the mountains 
with their deep booming cry; while in the lower 
valleys little brown monkeys mopped and mowed 
from the trees at the fugitives as they passed. On 
one occasion Muriel, exhilarated by the keen, life- 
giving air, ran gaily on ahead of the others in a 
wood — and came on a tiger enjoying its midday 
siesta. But the striped brute only uttered a startled 
‘WoughI Wough!’’ like a big dog and dashed away 
through the undergrowth.* Another time they dis- 
turbed a red bear feeding on the carcase of a strange 
beast that seemed a mixture of goat, donkey and 
deer — Tashi called it a serao. And at a lower eleva- 
tion they blundered on two black bears — not flesh- 
eaters these, yet more dangerous — ^grubbing for 
roots, and on another occasion saw one climbing a, 
tree in search of wild bees’ nests. 

In a dense jungle early one morning a beautiful 
black panther with a skin like watered silk glided 
stealthily by them, showing its white fangs and 
red mouth in an angry snarl as it went. And deep 
down in a valley they espied a rhinoceros feeding a 
thousand feet below them. But they came across 
no elephants; and Frank noted the fact despairingly 

[301] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

as rendering even less probable a meeting with 
Badshah and his herd. 

Bird-life abounded, from the snow partridges that 
flew in the hills eighteen thousand feet high to 
pigeons of every kind: birds of all sizes, from great 
eagles to the little quails that hid in the cornfields; 
lammergeiers that were fed on human bodies, the 
dead of families of high degree, exposed on a flat 
rock of slate with head and shoulders tied to a 
wooden axle that stretched the corpse like a rack. 
In Bhutan ordinary folk are cremated. 

On their journey the fugitives met with wayfarers 
of every rank and class. On a steep mountain track 
they stood aside to let a high official go by. He was 
sitting pickaback in a cloth on a powerfully-built 
servant, the ends of the cloth knotted on the man’s 
forehead. Behind trudged an escort of bare-legged 
swordsmen with leather shields and shining steel 
helmets. Coolies, male and female, followed, carry- 
ing the great man’s baggage in baskets placed in 
the crutch of forked sticks tied on their backs. 
Sometimes they passed a rival lama glaring with 
jealous eye at them. Often they met groups of 
raiyats, sturdy peasants, thick-limbed, bare-footed, 
bare-headed, the women clear-eyed, deep-bosomed, 
but uglier than the males. These did reverence 
to the holy men and put their modest offerings 
of copper coins or food into Muriel’s begging- 
bowl. 


[302] 


THE DEVIL DANCERS OF TUNA 

Another time it was a family group at food, eating 
by the wayside. The group consisted of a stout, 
ruddy-faced woman with close-cropped hair, hung 
with many necklaces of coral and turquoise, and 
waited on by her three meek and submissive hus- 
bands, all brothers — for this is a land of polyandry. 
She invited the fugitives to share their meal, and 
bade her dutiful spouses serve the supposed lamas. 
They proffered cooked rice coloured with saffron 
and other food in the excellent Bhutanese baskets 
woven with very finely split cane. These are made 
in two circular parts with rounded top and bottom 
pieces fitting so well that water can actually be 
carried in them. From sealed wicker-covered bam- 
boos the hosts filled choongas (bamboo mugs) with 
murwa, the beer of the country, and chang, the 
native spirit. Frank and Muriel refused the liquor; 
but Tashi drank their share as well as his, to give 
the pious peasants an opportunity of acquiring merit. 
And wife and husbands thought themselves amply 
rewarded by a muttered blessing. 

A very different figure was that of a; man lame 
of the right leg and limping painfully down a steep 
hill in front of the fugitives. Muriel, full of pity, 
whispered to her lover after they had passed him: 
“Oh, the poor wretch! Did you see, dear, he had 
lost the right hand as well?’’ But she shuddered 
when she learned that the cripple was a murderer 
punished by the severing of the tendons of the leg 

[303] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

and the loss of the hand that struck the fatal blow. 

In the cultivated valleys, where barley, buckwheat 
and mustard grew, there were ever3rwhere evidences 
of the religious feeling of the Western Bhutanese. 
Every hill was crowned with a gompa or chapel, 
chortens and praying-wheels stood beside the road, 
and mendongs or praying-walls, a mile long, their 
stones engraved with sacred words, were built near 
habitations. 

In the villages the disguised fugitives were well 
treated. Food and lodging were offered them freely 
in the cabins as in the great houses of officials and 
rich folks, where they spent hours watching the 
skilled artisans among the feudal retainers of their 
hosts weaving silk, making woollen and cotton gar- 
ments, brocade and embroideries, or hammering 
artistic designs on silver or copper plates backed 
with lac. None suspected the three of being other 
than they seemed. The Buddhism of Bhutan and 
Tibet to-day has but one article of faith — “Acquire 
merit by feeding and pa5dng the lamas and they 
will win salvation for you.” So rich and poor vied in 
giving their best to the holy wayfarers, and sought 
not to intrude on the meditations or privacy of lama 
and chela, and welcomed the cheery company of the 
more worldly lay brother who could crack a joke or 
empty a mug with any man and pitch the stone 
quoits or shoot an arrow in the archery contests 
better than the village champion. 

[304] 


THE DEVIL DANCERS OF TUNA 


Thus, contentedly and free from care, the three 
fugitives wandered on towards the south where on 
the frontier they expected their troubles to begin. 
One day when passing a hamlet by the roadside they 
tarried to look on at a wedding at which a buxom 
country maid was being married to a family of six 
brothers. The village headman performed the 
simple ceremony, which consisted of offering a 
bowl of murwa to the gods, then presenting a cupful 
to the bride and eldest bridegroom, blessing them, 
and expressing a hope that the union might be a 
fruitful one. The rest, after the usual presents 
had been given to the bride’s relatives, was simply 
a matter of feasting everyone. The stranger lamas 
were invited to join; but Frank refused and dragged 
away the convivial Tashi, who was anxious to accept 
the invitation. Wargrave with difficulty led him 
aside and was so occupied in arguing with his dis- 
contented guide that he did not notice that Muriel 
had not followed. 

A sudden cry from her and his name shrieked out 
wildly made him turn in alarm. To his horror he 
saw the girl struggling in the grasp of a Chinaman, 
while another on a mule and holding the bridle of 
a, second animal was calling on the villagers in the 
Penlop’s name to assist his comrade. 


[305] 


CHAPTER XV 


A STRANGE RESCUE 

Neither Muriel, absorbed in watching the 
wedding, nor the two men engrossed in their dispute 
had noticed the Chinese come riding along the 
road and pulling up when they saw the peasants 
gathered together. One of them had been about 
to question the villagers from his saddle when his 
eyes fell on the disguised girl standing apart from 
the crowd. He stared at her for a few moments. 
Then he spoke hurriedly to his companions, and, 
springing from the mule’s back seized Muriel in 
a rough grasp. 

At her cry Frank ran back, forgetting his dis- 
guise. He recognised in her assailant the pock- 
marked officer of the Amhan. The man, seeing him 
coming, drew a revolver; but Wargrave whipped 
out his pistol quicker and without hesitation shot 
him through the heart. The Chinaman collapsed 
to the ground and in his fall dragged the girl down. 
His comrade fired at his slayer and, missing him, 
wheeled his mule round and galloped off. Tashi 
returned the shot while Frank ran to Muriel. He 
fired several times and the rider was apparently hit;; 
for he fell forward on the neck of his animal; but 
he recovered himself and, crouching low, was still 
[306] 


A STRANGE RESCUE 

in the saddle when a turn in the road hid him 
from sight. 

The startled villagers scattered and fled in terror 
at the tragedy suddenly enacted in their midst, the 
six cowardly husbands deserting their new-made 
wife and leaving her to follow as they ran away, 
which she did at her utmost speed. 

Frank freed Muriel from the stiffened grasp of 
the dead man and helped her to her feet; then the 
three hurried from the fatal spot, so lately filled by 
a cheerful crowd of merrymakers and now tenanted 
only by the corpse that lay with sightless eyes staring 
up at the blue sky. They made for the shelter of 
jungle-clad hills that rose a couple of miles away. 

From now onwards, for two or three weeks, the 
fugitives led the lives of hunted rats. They travelled 
generally only by night, avoiding villages and farms, 
and keeping away from the road as much as possible. 
They were in the southern zone of Bhutan lying 
nearest the Indian frontier, a region of precipitous 
hills ten or twelve thousand feet high, their sides 
clothed with dense vegetation, of deep, fever-laden 
valleys of awe-inspiring gorges, of rivers liable to 
sudden floods and rising in a few hours thirty or 
forty feet. 

Tashi in various disguises occasionally visited 
villages in search of food and information; while 
the lovers awaited his return in some hidden spot, 
Frank holding the anxious girl in his arms and 

[307] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

trying to calm her fears. In one excursion the 
ex-lama got the first definite news of the pursuit. 
He learned that the Amban had returned imex- 
pectedly to Tuna, the plot in his favour in Pekin 
having failed. He was not satisfied by the tales 
told by the monks of the lamasery to account for 
Muriel’s mysterious disappearance, which was that 
she had been carried off by devils. He insisted on 
a search being made for her along the road to the 
Indian border and sent his own Chinese guards to 
direct the pursuit. The companion of the pock- 
marked man had got back to Tuna and told of their 
recognition of her. Yuan Shi Hung, furious at the 
death of his officer but overjoyed at the discovery of 
the girl, set out at once with his personal followers 
and a body of the Penlop’s soldiers to take up the 
chase. 

The fugitives, hotly pursued, had several hair- 
breadth escapes. Once they almost blundered into 
a bivouac of their enemies at night. They succeeded 
at last in reaching the great forest in which War- 
grave and the ex-lama had parted from the elephants, 
the forest which ran along the foot and clothed the 
northern slopes of the second-last range of moun- 
tains between them and the frontier. But alas! 
there was no trace of Badshah’s herd; yet this was 
not surprising, for they found themselves in a part 
unknown to them. Through this vast jungle they 
travelled by day, until one evening they reached a 
[308] 


A STRANGE RESCUE 

deep gorge that pierced the range and seemed to 
promise a passage through the mountains. 

They camped for the night by its mouth, intend- 
ing to enter it at sunrise. Dawn found them break- 
ing their fast on a scanty meal of dried mutton and 
bananas. Suddenly Tashi stopped eating and held 
up a warning hand. His companions drew their 
pistols, Frank having given his second weapon to 
Muriel. Presently they heard the faint sounds of 
an animaPs approach on their track. Just as they 
had risen silently to their feet three gigantic dogs 
appeared, scenting their trail. They were Tibetan 
mastiffs, such as are to be seen chained in the court 
yards of lamaseries. At sight of them the huge 
brutes stopped, crouched for an instant, showing 
their fangs in a fierce snarl, and then rushed at them. 

Without hesitation the three fired. One of the 
dogs dropped dead; but the others, though wounded, 
came on. One bounded at Muriel. Frank threw 
himself in front of her, firing rapidly at it. Several 
bullets struck it^ but the savage brute sprang at his 
throat. He grappled with it, striving by main 
strength to hold it off. Muriel rushed to his aid 
and putting her pistol to the mastiff’s head shot it 
dead. Tashi meantime had killed the third. 

Elnowing that their pursuers must be close behind 
the dogs they fled into the gorge. One either hand 
stupendous cliffs towered up two thousand feet above 
them, scarcely a hundred yards apart, seeming to 

[309] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

meet overhead and shut off the sky. Here and there 
the giant walls were split from top to bottom in slits 
opening off the main passage. As the fugitives ran 
on the gorge narrowed until it was scarcely fifty 
yards wide, and they began to fear that it might 
prove only a cul-de-sac in which they would be 
hopelessly trapped. They heard cries behind 
them, strangely echoed by the rocky walls. Breath- 
less, panting, their tired limbs giving way under 
them, they staggered blindly on. 

The pass turned sharply to the right. As they 
approached the bend they became aware of a dull 
rumbling, and the ground, which suddenly began to 
slope steeply down, shook violently under their feet. 
Wondering what new danger, what fresh horror, 
awaited them they stumbled on, turned the corner 
and stopped short in dismayed despair. 

From side to side the gorge was filled with a 
tumultuous, racing flood of foam-flecked water, a 
rushing river that poured out of a natural tunnel 
in the steeply sloping rocky bottom of the pass as 
from a sluice. It surged against the precipitous 
cliffs, leaping up against the walls that hemmed it in, 
sweeping in mad onset of white-topped waves and 
eddying whirlpools flinging spray high in air. The 
stoutest swimmer would be tossed about helplessly in 
it, rolled over and over, choked, suffocated, sucked 
under, the life beaten out of him. 

For one wild moment Frank thought of seizing 

[310] 


A STRANGE RESCUE 


Muriel in his arms and springing into the raging 
flood, but the sheer hopelessness of escape that way 
checked him. It was certain death. Better to 
turn and face their pursuers. There was more 
chance of life in battling with a score or two of 
Bhutanese swordsmen than with the tumbling, 
tossing waters. 

So, pistol in hand, the three retraced their steps, 
looking everywhere for a suitable spot to make a 
stand. But on either hand the cliffs rose sheer, their 
faces seamed here and there with cracks, but with 
never a crevice big enough to shelter them. They 
passed the bend; and a few hundred yards beyond 
it some large rocks fallen from the cliff on one side 
lay close against its base. 

Frank resolved to take their stand here. It was 
the only cover visible. They fitted the holster-stocks 
to their pistols, converting them into carbines which 
could be fired from the shoulder, enabling them to 
aim more accurately at a longer range. Then while 
Tashi crept cautiously along the pass to scout, the 
subaltern and the girl examined the position for 
defence. Thus occupied they were startled by shots 
ringing out, echoing down the vast canyon. Taking 
cover they saw their companion running back fol- 
lowed by a body of men, a few mounted, the 
majority on foot. Some had fire-arms, others bows, 
the rest swords. 

Wargrave and Muriel opened on the pursuers with 

[311] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

their automatic weapons and checked them. Tashi 
was about a hunded yards from shelter when a shot 
struck him. He stumbled and fell, while a howl of 
delight rose from his foes. As he tried to struggle 
up bullets kicked up the dust round him and several 
arrows dropped near. 

‘^Muriel, loose off as many cartridges as you can 
to cover me,” said Wargrave, laying his pistol beside 
her. 

Before the girl realised his meaning he had sprung 
out from the rocks and was running towards Tashi. 
For a moment the pursuers were puzzled by his 
action and then fired their rifles and matchlocks and 
shot arrows at him. But unscathed he reached the 
woimded man who had been so faithful a comrade to 
him. Raising him on his back he staggered towards 
the rocks, while Muriel pumped lead at the enemy 
and succeeded in keeping down their fire somewhat. 
As Wargrave laid the ex-lama on the ground in 
shelter Tashi seized his hand and touched it with his 
lips and forehead in silent gratitude. Frank 
hurriedly examined and bandaged the wound made 
by a large-calibre bullet, which had passed through 
the leg below the knee, lacerating the muscles but 
not injuring the bone. Then he took up his post 
again, while Tashi dragged himself up behind a rock 
and opened fire on their foes. 

These were for the most part Bhutanese, but there 
were several Chinese ^ong them. 

[312] 


A STRANGE RESCUE 

‘‘Look! Look, Frank! There^s the AmhaUf* 
cried Muriel excitedly, pointing to a man who rode 
into sight along the pass on a white mule. 

She fired at him. The bullet missed him but ap- 
parently went impleasantly close, for Yuan Shi Hung 
galloped back into shelter behind a projecting 
buttress of the cliffs. 

The attackers numbered sixty or eighty. They 
were apparently staggered by the rapid fire poured 
into them, which killed or wounded several of them. 
Some tried to find shelter by huddling against the 
side of the pass and others flung themselves on the 
ground behind boulders; but the leaders urged them 
on. 

There could be little doubt as to the issue of the 
fight. The bullets from the Chinamen^s rifles and 
the Bhutanese matchlocks spattered the rocks or the 
face of the cliff; but the archers began to shoot 
almost vertically into the air from their strong 
bamboo bows, and several iron-tipped, four-feathered 
arrows dropped behind the cover, one missing War- 
grave by a hand^s breadth. 

Fearing for Muriel he tried to shield her with his 
body. 

'What’s the use, dearest?” she said. 'Tf you are 
killed I don’t want to live. Indeed, we must both 
die now. I shall not be taken alive. Kiss me and 
tell me once more that you love me.” 

[313] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

He held her to his heart in a passionate embrace 
and kissed her fondly. 

^They are coming now, sahib/’ said Tashi. “And 
I have only a few cartridges left.” 

The lovers paid no heed. 

“Goodbye, my dear, dear love,” whispered Muriel. 
“I’m happier dying with you than living without 
you.” 

Frank kissed her, solemnly now, for the last time. 
Then they turned to face the enemy. The swords- 
men were massing for a charge. Crouching low 
they held their shields before them and waved their 
long-bladed dahs above their heads, uttering fierce 
yells. 

Suddenly the Amban and other mounted men who 
had been sheltering out of sight dashed into view 
and rode madly into the rear ranks, knocking down 
and trampling on anyone in their way. The men 
on foot looked behind and broke into a run, coming 
on in a disordered mob. But it was not a charge — 
it was more like a panic. For with wild cries of 
frantic terror they fled past the defenders who, fear- 
ing a trick, fired their last cartridges into them, 
dropping several, some of whom tried to rise and 
drag themselves on in dread of something terrible 
behind. 

Then into sight came a va^t herd of wild elephants, 
filling the gorge from cliff to cliff and moving at a 
slow trot. A huge bull led them, lines of other 

[314] 


A STRANGE RESCUE 


tuskers behind him, crowds of females and calves 
bringing up the rear. The onset of the mass of 
great monsters was terrifying. It was appalling, 
irresistible. 

Muriel cried out: 

“ICs Badshahl Frank, iFs Badshahl Look at 
the leader! Don’t you see?” 

Tashi stared at the oncoming herd. Then he 
quietly unfixed his pistol and put it away in the 
holster. 

are saved, sahib,” he said with the calm 
fatalism of the East. ‘‘The God of the Elephants 
has sent them.” 

And he limped out from behind the rocks. The 
two Europeans followed him. Their foes had dis- 
appeared, all but the dead and wounded. 

Badshah — for it was he — swerved out of his 
course and came to them, while the herd went on, 
opening out to pass him as he sank to his knees 
before the humans. Tashi, despite his wound, 
climbed on to his neck, while Wargrave mounted 
behind him and Muriel took her seat on the broad 
back, clinging to her lover. Then the tusker rose 
and moved swiftly after the herd. 

As he rounded the bend a strange sight met the 
eyes of those he carried. Their enemies were 
huddled together in terror near the brink of the 
tunnel from which the surging water rushed out. 
Some endeavoured to pluck up courage to throw 

[315] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

themselves into the river, while the majority had 
turned to face the elephants. But they were 
paralysed with fright. A few tried to discharge their 
firearms or loosed their arrows with trembling 
hands. As the elephants, quickening their pace, 
rushed on in an irresistible mass some of the men, 
crazed with fright, ran to meet them. Others flung 
themselves to the ground where they were. 

But over both the great monsters passed, treading 
them to pulp under the ponderous feet. The animals 
of the mounted men, as terrified as their riders, 
swung about and sprang headlong into the river. 
Many of the men on foot did the same. The heads 
of animals and men appeared and disappeared, bob- 
bing up and down, then their bodies were rolled over 
and over, tossed up on the waves and sucked under. 
One by one they disappeared. 

A few of the panic-stricken mob had tried to climb 
the precipitous cliffs in vain. One, however, getting 
his hands into a narrow, slanting crack, dragged 
himself up a few feet. 

It was the Amban. Frank drew his pistol; but 
Muriel clung to his arm and cried : 

‘‘Oh, spare the poor wretch!” 

Tashi had no scruples, but his magazine was 
empty and he searched in vain for a cartridge. 

But Yuan Shi Hung’s time had come. Badshah’s 
trunk shot out and caught the climber’s ankle. The 
Chinaman was plucked from the face of the cliff 
[316] 


A STRANGE RESCUE 

and hurled to the ground. A frenzied shriek burst 
from him as the tusk was driven into his shudder- 
ing body, which in an instant was trodden to a 
bloody pulp. Muriel hid her face against her lover, 
but the agony of the wretch’s dying yell rang in her 
ears. 

Not one of their enemies was left alive. Then the 
elephants one by one slid and slithered down into 
the rushing water which was very little below the 
brink. The mothers supported the youngest calves 
with their trunks, the less immature climbing on to 
their backs. Tashi checked Badshah as he was 
about to follow the herd into the river and, lame as 
he was, slid down to the ground. He searched the 
crushed and mangled corpses of his fellow-country- 
men and collected their girdles until he had enough 
to knot and plait into two ropes, one to go about 
Badshah’s neck, the other around the great body. 
More girdles sufficed to join these together and 
supply cords by which the men and the woman on 
his back could tie themselves on to the ropes and 
to each other securely. When this was done 
Badshah slid into the river. As elephants do he 
sank in the water until only the upper part of his 
head and the tip of his upraised trunk were above 
it. Without the precaution that Tashi had taken 
his riders would have been instantly swept away. 

Only elephants could have battled successfully 
with that raging torrent. The upflung spray and 

[317] 


THE JUNGLE GIRL 

leaping waves hid the herd from the fugitives as 
they clung desperately to the ropes and to each other. 

:|e j|c sK 

Eighteen months had gone by. In the garden of 
the Political Agent’s bungalow in Ranga Duar 
Colonel Dermot, completely restored to health, and 
his wife stood with his Assistant, Major Hunt and 
Macdonald. They were watching Mrs. Wargrave 
who, with Brian and Eileen clinging to her, was 
holding out her two months’ old baby to a great 
elephant with a single tusk. The animal raised its 
trunk as though in salute, then, lowering it, gently 
touched with its sensitive tip the laughing infant 
whose tiny hand instinctively clutched it and held it 
fast. 

With a smile Muriel turned her head and looked 
at her husband. 

“Badshah has accepted him. Your son is free of 
the herd,” said Colonel Dermot. 


THE END. 


[318] 






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